A Fortuitous Break
by ElizabethAnne1
Summary: A Christmas gift for my football obsessed bestie! AU as usual, M for language... the fun stuff will come in the not too distant future.
1. Chapter 1

"Carlos, I hate to tell you this, but it's definitely broken."

 _Fuck._

"Can't be!" he chuffed trying to hop back down off the exam table, "it's barely even swollen." I rolled my eyes and placed a hand on his shoulder, halting his trajectory. Last thing I needed was my most important client and good friend falling on his, what appeared to even my layman's eye, very badly broken leg and damaging his pretty head.

"I'm afraid it is," the team orthopedist said. "I'm also sorry to tell you that I'm going to be scheduling you for surgery…"

I had to put both hands on his shoulder and push to stop him from jumping up this time.

"Carlos," I hissed. "Stop! For goodness sake, sit back!"

"The super-bowl is next-fucking-week, Steph!" He growled right back.

Another eye-roll. "Yes, I am aware." I looked down at his mangled right lower-leg. "Are you thinking that _this_ will heal in time?" I pointed at the worst of the gruesome bruising. He flinched away from my fingertip when I got too close. "Can you please just listen to the doctor?"

He humphed and slumped back, waving his hand in a 'carry-on' fashion.

"Okay," Scott said crossing to the monitor on the wall, he tapped the screen and a shadowy x-ray appeared. "Do you see this here?" He turned to Carlos. Of course Carlos could see it. I could see it; anyone with eyes would've been able to see that mess. "This fracture is actually very severe. Do you remember that L.T. hit on Joe Theismann?"

"Yeah." He muttered, much more solemn now that his eyes couldn't seem to leave the carnage on the screen.

I shuddered. There wasn't a single person associated with the National Football League that didn't remember that hit or the hideous injury Theismann sustained. It had been the first thing that popped in my head when I saw Flowers trip over Pugh and land shoulder first on Carlos' lower leg as he cut across the line. The sickening snap that followed was still reverberating inside my head like a bad ear-worm.

"This is a very similar injury, a comminuted fracture of the tibia and fibula. I'll have to rod and pin the tibia, here," he pointed to the largest shards of bone on the image, "and here. And the fibula here. Once the rods are in place, we'll be able to get you up and moving pretty quickly and be able to give you a better prognosis then. We have to take you up for surgery now though if we're going to limit the amount of permanent damage."

 _Permanent… Fuck, Theismann had to retire after that._

Carlos deflated like a balloon. "Permanent?"

"The biggest thing on your side is that it's not a compound fracture, you have a much lower risk of infection and far less soft tissue damage than an open fracture, and therefore a better outcome can be expected. But, I cannot stress how important it is that we take you up now. This is actually emergency surgery."

"Yeah," he nodded, still distracted by the shattered bones on the x-ray. "Steph, can you call Jeanne?"

This time I managed to stifle the eye-roll, but only just. I'm sure the princess will overreact and go into self-indulgent hysterics as soon as I speak to her.

"Of course I'll handle it."

He shot me a feeble attempt at a smile and, in a rare show of vulnerability, took my hand and squeezed it. "Thank-you."

Without thought, I bent and wrapped an arm around him. "You'll be okay. Okay?" He nodded against my shoulder, the smell of grass and sweaty shoulder pads strong but comfortingly familiar.

"Excuse me please." I was abruptly hip-checked aside as a nurse bustled in and started raising side rails and releasing the stretcher's brakes. Maneuvering him out of the room with unnerving efficiency not even pausing for a goodbye.

"I'll be here when you wake up." I called in their wake.

It wasn't until the pneumatic door swished shut that the panic settled in. Carlos had been my first big-potential client after I was lured over to Kratos Sports. He was a Heisman candidate and subsequent winner, rare for a tight end, but not unheard of. Kratos dangled him in my face like a big, juicy carrot. I had already seen the kid play by then and the opportunity to represent talent like that was best selling point the agency could've offered me. I quit KMG and never looked back. But, now here I was, standing helpless, wondering if one of the greatest athletes I'd ever come across was finished in football.

"If you want, you can wait in the room outside the surgical suite." The doctor tapped my elbow and motioned me out of the exam room.

"Scott, how bad is it really? Are we talking career-ending here?"

He looked pained. "Even as the team orthopedist, I can't actually discuss the details without his express consent, Steph. You're his agent, not his next of kin. I will tell you as a friend, that this is one of the most severe of this type of fractures that I've seen. I really have no clue how he wasn't screaming his head off. Anybody else would've. I've got to get up there and scrub-in. I'll do my very best." He squeezed my hand and walked away, leaving me and the growing pit in my stomach all alone.

I wandered to the elevators in something of a daze, thinking about the bizarreness of the day. When I woke up this morning. I never would've guessed that by 3:00 in the afternoon, I would be trying to find the surgical waiting room in the prestigious Hospital for Special Surgery. We were only supposed to have had a meeting after practice today to discuss the final year option of his contract. He wasn't supposed to be sustaining the most horrific injury I'd ever witnessed.

At 32, he was already 4 years past the average age of retirement, but still in better shape than most rookies. He'd always been that way. Fast, strong and agile, at 6'5" and 260lbs he was on the larger side for a tight-end, but throw a ball to that man and he could run faster than Usain Bolt. He was leaning towards finishing out one more year with the Giants, but he had the option to retire at the end of this season if he wished. His leadership qualities and offensive brilliance had already had other teams hinting around my office that they may be interested in him as a coach. He was definitely interested in that for the future, but he was determined to win one more Super-bowl. His first had come his second year in the league, his final minute 80-yard touchdown the game winner. They hadn't won one since, though they'd gone deep into the post season every year he'd played for the Giants. I fully believed he could go for one more season after this at least, but to have his hand forced by a freak accident was just too fucked up for words.

After finally finding the right waiting room, I slumped in a chair and dug my phone from the black hole that is my bag and steeled myself for the screeching that would inevitably occur if Jeanne deigned to answer my call. Carlos' phone was presumably in his bag back in the locker room. I hadn't even thought about his things as we hopped in the ambulance at the practice facility.

After one more deep breath, I sighed and pulled her name up in my contacts. My hopes rising when the phone rang for the fourth time, fingers crossed that it would shoot to voicemail...

"Hello."

 _Dammit!_

"Jeanne, hi, it's Stephanie Plum."

"Oh? Yes?" disdain dripping from those two little words.

God, I really hated this imperious bitch. Always treating me like I was some peon gopher or something.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you on the phone, but Carlos is at the hospital, about to go into surgery in fact." I paused for the inevitable histrionics, but none came. "Hello?"

"Yes?" Total I'm-superior-to-you calm.

 _Ummmm, okay…_

"Yes, so, his right leg is very badly broken, it happened in practice today. Total accident. They're, um, doing the surgery right now." I could not believe that she wasn't reacting to this! "He asked me to call you, I think he'd like it if you came here."

"Did he really?" Sardonic now. "Did he say that he wanted me to come there?"

"Well he asked me to call you, I'm inferring the rest."

"Are you? Well, what should I infer from our last conversation, hmmm?" _Oh, here comes the let-me-make-this-all-about-me angle._ "4 days ago, Carlos was calling me selfish for going skiing in Banff. Just because I wouldn't get home before this stupid 'big game', I mean really, how often do you get to go skiing in the Canadian Rockies?" _For a movie star? Probably every freaking week…_ "He knows I hate football! To top it off, the game wouldn't even be anywhere warm! If I have to leave Manhattan for a game, it better be in Miami or LA. It's January for fuck's sake, I'm not freezing my ass off in the middle of a swamp in New Jersey for anybody. And now, he wants me to come rushing back from the most beautiful place I've ever been to what? Baby him over a boo-boo on his leg?"

I actually underestimated how much I hated this woman.

"So, does that mean you're not coming back here?"

"No!" She yelled. _There's the screeching._ "I'll be back February 9th like I said. He can just manage by himself. Reap the benefits of emotionally abusing me." And she disconnected.

"I really hope Jennifer Lawrence kicks your scrawny ass at the Oscars, you asshole," I said to dead air. I was so freaking happy that I never went into talent representation after law school. Athletes were so much easier to deal with, sure, they had egos, huge ones even, but they never really got melodramatic like actors do. Calling someone on their pathological self-centeredness does not equal abuse. It was way past time for Carlos to say something to her. I had always been befuddled by their relationship, she was a semi-decent actress who was incredibly beautiful and lucky in the landing of roles (she would never credit her agent in that, but she should. Connie was the best in the business and made sure that she got the choicest of readings.), but otherwise an awful human being. Her selfishness being the least of her character flaws. He was a good, gentle, and loyal man, who happened to be incredibly attractive. He also had a strong enough character that he wasn't hung up on himself, even with the way he turned heads.

The phone call to his parents was significantly more difficult. They had finally taken a long deserved vacation in Hawaii, a second honeymoon of sorts. A Christmas gift from their five football playing sons. Mrs. Manoso broke down in tears when I broke the news that her oldest (and favorite, though she would never admit it) child had gotten hurt and she wasn't there to take care of him. His dad was booking a flight home before we even hung up.

After a quick check in with the office to clear my schedule for the rest of today and Friday, I settled in to wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

By the time Scott finally wandered in, I had paced a track in the laminate floor. "How is he?" I demanded before he was fully over the threshold.

He held his hands up in supplication and slumped in a chair. It wasn't until I saw the crescents of sweat staining his underarms and the utter exhaustion pulling down his eyes that I realized it was now 10:00 at night.

"How…"

"He's fine," he said, cutting me off. "He's in recovery, awake and asking for you."

"Which way is it?" I asked, hurrying to the door.

"To the right, three doors down…" I didn't hear the rest because I was already there.

I was made to don gown, booties, and a fetching cap _and_ to scrub most of the skin off my hands before I was granted access to my groggy client. His long body was buried under a mountain of blankets and his dark skin was very pale under the harsh lights and blue cap still covering his thick, black hair. I pulled a chair close and his eyes slowly blinked open. The residual anesthesia and painkillers they were no doubt pumping into him, dulling their usual brilliance.

"Hey," I whispered.

The goofiest grin slid slowly across his face.

 _Yep, they definitely gave him morphine._

"You stayed?" He slurred.

"Of course I did." It hadn't even occurred to me to leave. Not for a second. "How are you feeling? Any pain?"

He shook his head the tiniest bit, the grin spreading. "Nuh-uh… Feel good."

I couldn't help but laugh. I'd seen Carlos a little drunk before after a few celebratory occasions. He was full-on high here.

"The nurse said he's going to bring you to a room in a few minutes…" I trailed off as he slowly dragged his hand out from the pile of blankets over him. Watching confused as he sluggishly cupped my cheek in his cool palm.

"You're so pretty, Steph," he slurred.

I snorted, he'd get flirty on those few instances of tipsiness too. "Um, thanks." I started to pull his hand away, but caught those big brown eyes sadden pitifully and returned it to my face. The beatific smile returned.

He sighed drowsily and those eyes slid slowly shut, his lips barely moving, "Do you know what I thought the… first time I… saw you?"

"What?" I whispered, watching the nurse disconnect the monitor and get ready to move him.

"Hmmmm, that you were…" he paused so long that I thought he fell back asleep. "you were so fucking… beautiful… and smart… and funny." For some reason, my stomach went funny at his words, even though he really did fall asleep then.

The nurse caught my eyes and nodded in Carlos' direction. "They say some really crazy stuff when they come out of surgery."

 _Well, gee, thanks. Guess it's crazy to think that I was any of those things._

The nurse must've seen the look on my face and quickly back-tracked. "No!" He insisted, panicked, "I just meant, people talk about odd things. What he was saying was… nice." He turned away before he could dig himself deeper and grabbed some paperwork from the nearby desk. "If you follow us…"

He tapped the footbrake two orderlies joined him and they wheeled Carlos' stretcher down the hall. I trudged behind them, the anxiety fueled adrenaline high I'd been riding since this afternoon burned off in the sheer relief of seeing him safely through surgery. They berthed him into a private room and left quickly, pausing to hand over his chart to the, holy shit, pubescent child in scrubs at the nurses station. She looked everything over and headed my way.

"Hi, Stephanie, right?"

She actually looked younger close up, but her nametag proclaimed her M. Stempkowski MSN. Strange that a 15 year old would have an advanced degree in nursing. "Yes."

"Dr. Romeo convinced me to bend the rules and let you sit with Mr. Manoso for a while. He went to grab something to eat and will be up in a little while."

"Okay, thanks." I fell into the seat next to the bed as she checked him over. Smiling to myself as, even in the low light, I could see she blushed as she checked the placement of his nasal cannula. His physical appeal so universal that even semi-comatose and almost completely covered up he could make a woman react. She was very professional as she examined his IV's and checked his vitals though, alleviating any worry about the level of care he would be receiving. I was surprised when she lifted the blankets over his leg and there was a cast covering him from just behind his toes all the way up to about four inches above his knee. At least they had thought to cover it in Giants blue. He wouldn't be in the least bit pleased that his knee was immobilized as well. He woke up as the nurse tucked the blankets back over his leg, slightly more lucid than before.

"Hi."

"Hey." His smile significantly less loopy now.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fucking tired." He pulled his arms out from the blankets and yanked at the nasal cannula.

"You should probably…" he tugged it free of his ears and tossed it aside. "…leave that on. Never mind."

Did I forget to mention that he could be quite stubborn?

"Does your leg hurt?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "s'not too bad. It's kind of cold in here though."

"After my dad's surgery the doctor said it was pretty common to feel cold," I told him, scooting closer and rearranging the blankets over his bare arms. He shocked me by taking my hand and holding it. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, I just feel…" he looked scarily close to crying. "…I don't know… weird."

"He got kind of emotional too," I whispered. "It's okay." He smiled half-heartedly and tugged gently on my hand still clasped in his. I scooched my chair all the way over to his side and tried to get comfy. His eyes drooped again, but he fought it. "Scott will be here in a few to talk to you. Why don't you close your eyes and rest until he does." He hhmmmed and did as I said, but tightened his grip, bringing me closer still. So much so that I ended up resting my head on the corner of his mattress. I couldn't help but giggle. He was acting so much like my dad did when he woke up from his knee surgery. Two big, tough guys, were just big smushballs after anesthesia. He had my mom attached to his hip for the next two days.

Besides being my client, over the last 11 years Carlos and I had become pretty good friends. Close enough that we'd text and call just to talk about life as much as we'd talk about his career. Even when he was upset that I beat him in fantasy football last year, he still talked to me. For sure, I didn't have any other clients I would sit in the hospital all night for and hold hands with.

I was startled awake sometime later by Scott tapping my shoulder. His eyes settling on our hands still on top of the covers. "He was a little discombobulated," I explained quietly as I extricated my fingers. Carlos stirred as I sat up.

He nodded, not really looking all that convinced.

"You awake? How are you feeling?"

"Weird." He sounded fully awake this time. "Can I get some water?"

"Your throat scratchy?"

Carlos nodded, "Yeah."

"It's from the endotracheal tube. I'll have Maddie bring you some, but just water for now and we'll stick with clear liquids till tomorrow night. I want you to stay at least that long. We'll get you out of bed and on crutches in the morning." Scott pulled the blanket away from the cast so Carlos could see.

He found the button to elevate the head of the bed and took a good look. "Oh, man. I have a cast too?"

"This needs to stay on two to three weeks, until I have to take the stitches out. Hey, at least it goes with your uniform."

"That I guess I won't be wearing for a while?" Carlos asked quietly.

"Definitely not. Your post op films look really good. We have every reason to believe that your recovery will be complete. With the level of damage though, you'll be on crutches for six to eight weeks and then a cane and a boot. I do not want you bearing your full weight unassisted on that leg for at least three months. We'll start PT when I take the cast off. The best thing about the location of the fractures is that they're mid-shaft. Your musculature is very dense and tight around the injury, between that and your stronger than an average person's bones you have excellent blood perfusion so your healing should be relatively quick. We'll know more as we reassess. And, I get that you want to know when you can get back to playing, but for now it's going to be a wait-and-see game. I'm sorry I can't give you more than that." He paused for a beat to let that sink in. "Do you have any questions?"

"Hundreds. Right now, I really need to pee." Scott laughed and left to ask the nurse for help.

"That's my cue," I said, standing and stretching. "You'll be okay if I go?" He didn't say anything, just sat there looking pitiful.

 _Ack! The guilt!_

I cast around for a reason to stay a little longer, checking my watch I saw that it was already 12:30, and, it appeared to be sleeting outside. A very bad combination in Manhattan. The time and weather meant that every cab in the metropolitan area had probably disappeared and taking the subway to my Brooklyn brownstone at this time of night was a very, very unattractive and foolish proposition. "How about this? I go find a cup of tea, and you go to the bathroom and I'll stay for a while?" He perked up significantly and I made an exit as a gloved nurse Maddie approached, portable urinal bottle in hand.

Like I said, Carlos and I were close; just not that close.

By the time I accomplished my mission and returned, Carlos had taken care of what he needed to and was sitting propped up on a ton of pillows. A sweating pitcher of water on his tray table and a cup in his hand. "You seem to have made an impression on the young Maddie."

He chuffed, "I've barely said five words to her!"

I grinned and raised a brow, "Yes, but she's seen pretty much all there is to see, right?"

"Not the backside," he protested. He had me there, football pants don't leave much to the imagination. Jennifer Lopez might have a famous behind, but Carlos' Cuban heritage had blessed him even more in the perfect ass department. Maddie had missed out. "Did you call Jeanne?"

"Ugh, yes. And your parents." I knew he wouldn't like that.

"They were on vacation, Steph!"

"I know, but your mother would've kicked my ass if I hadn't told her. They were booking a flight home as I hung up."

"I really didn't want to bother them. The one time they actually go on vacation." He shook his head. "What about Jeanne?"

I looked away, not wanting to see the hurt on his face. "She, uh, she said she'll be back on the 9th."

"Thank god," he blurted, relief evident in his voice. My eyes back snapped to his in astonishment. "I didn't want her to come back, but if you hadn't called then she would've freaked out and tried to make it her crisis. Be all pissed off that she wasn't notified immediately"

"She was going miss the game?" I asked as gently as possible.

"She doesn't distinguish between a regular game and the super bowl, Steph. She only goes to the ones when there's a chance that there'll be publicity directed her way and that's not going to happen at the super bowl."

Bolstered by the intimacy of the hour and the privacy of the room, I finally blurted the question I'd been dying to ask for months now. "Why are you with her? I try not to judge too harshly before I really get to know someone, but from what she's shown me, she's a despicable narcissist and doesn't deserve you."

"Oof, don't hold back, Steph." He went silent for a beat. "I don't know why really, she can be charming when she wants to." He shrugged his shoulders tiredly. "I was going to end it when she got back here anyhow."

He grew more serious. "What am I going to do? If this doesn't heal right, I mean?"

"Hey," I moved closer again. "I told you, there's at least 5 different GM's that have hinted that they'd love to have you on their coaching staff. I know you though, you wanted that last year. You heard Scott, he has every reason to believe that you'll recover." I only hoped he didn't hear the uncertainty in my voice. I knew only too well the delicacy of negotiating injuries in a career in as tough a sport as football. Quite a few of my clients had had to retire far earlier than their talent had dictated because of concussions and other nagging injuries that just wouldn't heal correctly. But he needed positivity right now. We'd deal with whatever happened as it came at us. "Right now, rest, concentrate on getting well."

He rolled his eyes and snorted, "Yes, boss!" He looked at me for a second, mulling something over. "I don't want to seem clingy here, but would you mind staying here tonight? I don't know why, I'm just really shaky yet. And, I don't want you going all the way to that shitty neighborhood alone this late."

"Now you're just being ridiculous. My neighborhood is very safe." It was the intervening areas that weren't. Not that I'd say that to him. "If you want me to stay I will." He was far too pleased at his manipulative skills and I was just way too tired to launch a counter-argument.

Have you ever tried to sleep in a hospital? Do they come up with stuff to do with the patients specifically to keep them from resting, so they don't heal and have to stay longer? Carlos was poked and prodded at various intervals designed just long enough for him to fall asleep, only to be shaken awake again, throughout the night. I managed to save him from two such invasions, but only because I summoned up my super-bitch glare as the various interlopers reached for the light switch without so much as a thought to their patient's well-being. I mean, did he really need to have blood drawn twice in one night? He wasn't even sick! If they were looking to take pictures of Carlos covertly or trying to score an autograph, they were going about it in the worst possible way and I would make sure they would be fired for it. Thankfully he wouldn't be here long.

After a fitful few hours of dozing, I gave up on sleep altogether and dragged my tired ass down to the cafeteria for some breakfast. By the time I finally looked at my phone, it had 5% battery left and hundreds of missed calls and texts. Everyone that was the least bit affiliated with football, it seemed, was trying to get a line on how Carlos was doing. Scott had notified the team last night, though I'm sure they had their contingency plan activated before the ambulance doors had slammed shut behind us at the practice facility. His family was aware of his condition, so I shot a text to my assistant to confer with the team before releasing any information to the press; which I hope she got before the stupid thing died completely. Checking the time, I decided to drop in on a good friend.

Having organized countless promotional events with Nike, I knew that the store was just a few blocks away and if I timed it right, I could catch Lula as she arrived for the day. Lula was without a doubt one of the coolest people I had the privilege to call friend. She was a regional manager for their retail division, but kept her office above the nearby factory store. I caught up with her as she stepped from a cab.

"Lu!" She turned and squinted into the harsh, freezing wind, caught sight of me and broke into a toothy grin.

She pulled me into a comforting hug. "I heard on the news this morning. Is he okay?" Of course she knew. "My poor boyfriend," she joked, "and here I was just about to dump my Tank for him."

I rolled my eyes. Lu and her hubby, Pierre, better known as Tank, had been married for ever and were disgustingly happy together. She loved to rib me about Carlos, always thought that I had a thing for him. Never mind that I was seven years older and way too professionally driven to get involved with a client, and perhaps more importantly, he was most definitely not interested in that with me.

"Yeah, well, your _boyfriend_ needs some clothes to go home later in. All he's got till he gets there is a hospital gown."

Her eyes widened comically, "Oooooh! Is it one that opens in the back? Did he flash that ass at you going to the bathroom?"

I snorted, "No, he hasn't been out of the bed yet. I have to hurry back though. Can you help me out?"

"Only if you promise to send me a picture when he does get up." She cackled and led the way into the darkened store. She grabbed everything I listed plus a change of clothes for me, refused my credit card saying my money was no good there, and I was back at the hospital in pretty short order.

Carlos was sitting up in bed sipping some delicious, plain chicken broth when I arrived, bags in hand. "They have a Nike store in the cafeteria?"

"No, Lula hooked us up. New clothes for us both and I scored you a fuzzy sock to cover your toes for now. I ordered you this thing from amazon, to keep them warm when you go out, but that won't arrive for a day or two yet." He took the bag I handed him and scoffed at the shirt she had put in the bag. Carlos was a big guy, broad shoulders, very muscly, the shirt she had given him was two sizes too small at least. At least Lu had never hidden the fact that she objectified him at every available opportunity.

"She wants a picture of your behind." I told him as I plugged my phone into the wall. "When you get up to go to the bathroom. Payment for the stuff."

He laughed again. "I'd actually be scared of her if you weren't there to protect me."

"You should be," I told him as I dug out his new socks, "she'd totally molest you given the chance."

"I know," he muttered. He looked up at the still attached IVs, "I can't wait for them to disconnect these so I can take this stupid thing off." He plucked at the hospital gown disgustedly. He wasn't being snobbish, Carlos' wardrobe rarely varied. When it wasn't freezing out he wore t-shirts and baggy shorts, when it was he wore t-shirts, some type of sweatpants and a hoodie. That was it unless he was going out with Jeanne and then I'm pretty sure she picked his outfit.

"How does your leg feel today?" He was way grumpier than usual so I was guessing it wasn't feeling great.

"It hurts a little. I told them I don't want the narcotics so they're just giving me Tylenol."

"Carlos! You can't do this kind of injury without pain meds!"

"They make me feel all… I don't know, weird. I don't like it." He had that stubborn face on.

"That was probably just the anesthesia, though." He opened his mouth to retort when we were interrupted by Maddie's morning shift replacement and Scott carrying crutches.

"Good morning," he said holding them up, "Ready to try these?"

Carlos flipped the blankets off. "Hell yeah."

"Okay, Steph, can you help out here too?" Scott handed me the crutches. "Stand right here so you can hand him those when he gets up. Amy's going to stand to this side and I've got the other."

It took way more maneuvering than I would've thought to get him standing that first time. And, I might have gotten an eyeful as he shuffled to the edge of the bed and his gown rode up. Apparently his physical impressiveness was distributed evenly among all his parts.

Every single one of them.

He did pretty well once his initial dizziness on finally standing passed, but I never did get that picture Lula wanted. My phone was still too dead.

"Hey, I have a missed call from your mom." I told him as he slowly made his way back to bed. I couldn't help but notice how much that exertion seemed to have done him in. We helped him sit back down and I pulled the blankets back over him.

"Yeah, she called here while you were out." Their flight is delayed in LA. There's some huge blizzard in the middle of the country and everything is a mess. They won't get back until tomorrow night at the earliest.

"What about your brothers, can one of them come and get you?" Scott asked.

We both laughed at that. Carlos and his brothers all loved each other, but they could not be trusted with him in this shape. Not even for a second. He'd be back in here with the leg re-damaged in no time.

"I'll take him home and get him settled." I told Scott. He raised an eyebrow, but wisely didn't comment. "When can he go?"

"I'll discharge him around 3:00 so you can head home before traffic picks up. The team sent your bag to your apartment when they knew you were going home today. It is important that you're not alone for the next few days though. The anesthesia can still affect you for 48 hours or so." He looked at me as he said that.

I replied without thinking. "I can do that."

"Steph, you don't have to." Carlos objected.

"I don't mind, okay? I'll stay till your mom gets here."

He shook his head. "I can hire a nurse."

"Seriously? No! I can do it. I want to." Carlos looked grateful.

"Great," Scott said, "But be warned, he's elected not to take the pain meds I've prescribed. He already seems kind of cranky."

Carlos grunted disgustedly. "I am not cranky. I'm just tired."

"Yeah, okay." The esteemed doctor said to his patient. I'll give you discharge instructions in a little while. Amy is going to remove your IVs now."


	2. Chapter 2

**Happy New Year! If you all are enjoying this, you should thank my football-loving friend. This is her Christmas present from me and, because she's a lovely, amazing person, she's letting me post it here for you all. I wanted to have it all written out and under the tree, but the damn plot bunny I was chasing kept slipping away. As you can tell from the absence of updates, that's been a big problem for me lately. I know everyone wants an update to some of the other stories, but I can't write what I can't hear. I'll do what I can.**

SPOV

After him having to sign an enormous amount of paperwork and me basically having to swear on the life of my firstborn that I would watch over him like a hawk for the next two days, they released Carlos to my care. We had heard through the staff that there were a few photographers milling around in the lobby. Normally he never minded them unless they got really intrusive. But today, between the pain he was in, the minimal sleep he ended up getting and the big, awkward cast, I decided that sneaking him out a different way was the best idea. The car service had an SUV idling at a seldom used side entrance and we managed to get Carlos from wheelchair to backseat with his leg propped up with relative ease. I sat next to the driver and turned so I could keep an eye on him as we headed across town. But, It had resumed sleeting and the swoosh of the windshield wipers dragged my eyelids down before we hit the first traffic light.

I came full awake as Carlos directed the driver to the underground parking garage of his swanky building. I hadn't thought this out very clearly. From the few times I'd been to his place, I knew that his apartment was a good fifty feet from the elevator. Given how much more pain he was feeling now, that was going to take a while. I was usually a way better planner than this.

"I should've gone to find a medical supply store and gotten you a wheelchair," I told him as he heaved himself out and leaned heavily on his crutches.

He looked at me aggrieved. "I don't need a wheelchair! I have to manage with these." He rattled his crutches a bit. "You don't have to baby me, Steph," he muttered harshly.

I had to swallow back a little bit of hurt at his tone. I wasn't used to that kind of attitude from him, and it stung more than I thought it would.

He must've seen it in my face and was instantly contrite. "I'm sorry, it's just…"

"Don't you dare apologize, you've had a shitty couple of days. I'm a lot tougher than that. Get your grumpy ass in the elevator."

He smiled sheepishly and hobbled into the open elevator car. Watching him limp down that long hallway to his front door was enough for me to prepare several arguments in favor of the Tylenol with codeine that Scott had sent home with him. If pain was going to get in the way of him being ambulatory, then I was going to coerce, cajole, bribe or beg him to take the damn stuff. There was something very sad in seeing such a large and fit man just struggling just to walk. I knew he'd get better, but I really hate it when people are in pain, especially people I care about.

The doorman met us outside Carlos' apartment, he fobbed us in and explained that he had placed several deliveries of flowers in the kitchen. I thanked him and followed a silent, white-faced Carlos to the couch. He collapsed backwards as soon as he was in range and I slid an ottoman under his outstretched cast.

"You okay?" I whispered.

"Yeah." He winced and inhaled sharply as he shifted his leg to a more comfortable position.

"I'll get you some water." He nodded and laid his head back, closing his eyes.

When the doorman had said they put _some_ deliveries in the kitchen, he had grossly understated. Every inch of countertop was filled with vases of flowers, fruit baskets, teddy bears and cards. When I opened the fridge to grab his water, there were even fruit baskets in there too. I poked through the things on the kitchen island and found some baggy flannel PJ bottoms with Giants emblems all over them. The card attached to the basket holding them said they were from Ereck Flowers, there was also some pretty profuse apologizing in his card. I brought all three things to the living room for him, but stopped short. He was asleep. His face looking almost gaunt, his strong cheekbones and jaw seemed even sharper than usual, drawn from the last 24 hours. I placed his water within reach and covered him with a blanket, he stirred but didn't wake.

I wandered back into the kitchen. His place was familiar enough that I wasn't awkward there, but I wasn't completely at ease in someone else's space like this either. In an effort to dispel that 'I'm snooping' sense, I tried to do something useful. I went through the cabinets to see if he had anything that he could eat, there was some chicken and beef stock for cooking. That would have to do for today. Scott said that he could start on something more solid tomorrow. He had Greek yogurt up the wazoo in the fridge and I could probably have anything else he wanted delivered from around here. I scattered some of the get-well gifts around the living room and straightened some cushions. I checked out some of the pictures on the walls. I even found a photo with me in it. It was taken right after his very first contract negotiation and he looked so young in it. Immediately after signing the contract, Carlos' dad had insisted on snapping the pic, Carlos had been so exuberant, he had hopped up from his seat, dragged me to his side and his mother to the other, his dad next to her. I remembered it vividly, I was just surprised that this picture had made his wall and not the one of just him and his parents.

I checked on him again. Still asleep.

I checked my phone, but the sheer amount of calls and messages that needed to be returned made me feel faint. I texted my assistant to ask her to take care of the most important messages and buried my phone in my bag.

With nothing left to do and suspicious that the obnoxious smell I was catching was emanating from me I grabbed up the bag Lu had given me this morning and hit the bathroom. I was curious about the shower Carlos had told me was installed in the master suite, but it felt too snoopy to go in there to check it out, 8 showerheads or not. I settled for the large guest bath off the main hallway. It was plenty luxurious for me. My brownstone was in the process of being renovated, a state it had been in for nearly a year now. My bathroom was up for demo next, so it was in a pitiable state right now and the hot water heater was always sketchy. This wasn't a problem here, this building was only completed a year or so ago and had every possible amenity. Including, what seemed to be an unlimited supply of wonderful steamy-hot water. I was pruny and warm and sleepy by the time I wandered back into the living room. Carlos was now awake and had a little more color in his cheeks than before.

He looked me up and down and grinned like his old self. "Lula pick out your outfit too?"

"Ugh, yes, why do you think I didn't clean up at the hospital?" I tugged on the hem of my shorts in the hopes of somehow making them longer. "I asked her for yoga pants and this is what I got." The top wasn't bad, just a plain red t-shirt, but the shorts were skin tight and only 2 inches too long to be termed 'booty' shorts. "Do you want to get cleaned up? I could help you to the bathroom. Scott said no showers yet, right?" Somewhere in the litany of discharge dos and dont's I had heard something about that.

"Not until they remove the sutures." He scooted to the edge of the couch and arched a brow. "Are you going to sponge-bathe me too?"

"Haha, you are so freaking funny." I stepped in front of him and held out his crutches. "Come on stinky, you smell like hospital."

Taking the crutches he planted his good leg and pushed upwards, wobbling as he reached his full height. I grabbed the sides of his waist to steady him, stepping closer. Now, I'm no shorty, at 5'8" I'm generally the tallest woman in the room, but I had to tilt my head pretty far back to check his face for pain. He was looking down at me, a strange expression on his face.

"What? Does it hurt?"

He took a beat before answering. "Yeah," he murmured.

It took a moment for me to realize that I still had my hands on him, even though he was pretty steady. We were also about 3 inches apart and I didn't seem to want to back up.

 _Well this is awkward, and… nice._

I backed up then, feeling my cheeks warm. "I'll, uh, get you some towels."

He just nodded, his face serious.

I followed him down the hallway, confused when he passed the guest bath. "Carlos, where are you going?"

"Bathroom."

"But… the other one is closer." Too late, we were already in his room.

"But this one is better."

I had to agree with him once I took a look around. The master bath was better suited to his needs. It was huge! There was beautiful pale stone tile everywhere. And, wait, was the floor heated? During the day the large windows would flood the room with light. He pushed a button on the wall and the windows automatically blurred. One end of the room was entirely of shower stall with a built in bench and various types of water outlets, including a hand held shower head. He could sit on the bench and at least wash his hair, if I put a bag over his cast and sealed it as best as I could, he might be able to rinse off his body as well.

"It is better, you're right. Do you have garbage bags?"

"For this?" He pointed at his leg. "Under the sink in the kitchen."

I hustled out there, but only found small bags.

"Do you have…?" I stopped and swallowed hard. I had gone back to him in the bathroom to ask for bigger bags and found him shirtless, pantless and about to be boxer-less.

 _Oh, Holy shit!_

"Wait!" I stopped him as he was about to drop his drawers. "There's nothing big enough that we can use to cover the cast. Can you just wash up for now?"

He sighed, "I guess, but my hair stinks." Between sweating under a helmet all day yesterday and the hospital stay, his hair was looking a little greasy.

"If you sit down, maybe you can use this." I reached past him and grabbed the hand held.

"It's worth a shot. I'm starting to itch."

He carefully lowered himself to the bench.

Smiling again, he asked, "Can you hand me that shampoo-body wash stuff?" I stepped all the way into the stall and put the bottle on the bench next to him.

"You're in a much better mood," I told him.

He shrugged. "I'm home, had a good nap and have good company." I snorted and grabbed some towels to lay on the floor.

"Just protecting my star client." I jokingly patted his face.

He grabbed my hand and held it there. "You'd do this," he smirked and waved his hand around, "for Vereen?" Shane Vereen was another client. Great kid, but no, I'd hire a nurse for him.

"No, just you sweetcheeks." I patted him again and backed away. Under the joking there was a weird tension. Not uncomfortable, just… odd.

I spotted a wicker box next to the big free standing tub, just high enough for him to prop his leg on to keep it out of the way. His smile slipped as I lifted his leg up and a pained little squeak slipped out. I caught his eyes for a second, his held a do-not-bring-up-pain-meds look, so I bided my time. I had a plan.

He was sitting in such a way that it would've been incredibly uncomfortable to rinse his hair. Guess who would have to do it for him? I know, poor me. Growing up in a lower-middle class neighborhood, there wasn't all that much money for college and law school. To make some tuition money I took a job at my grandma's favorite beauty salon and found that most people will become super pliable and relaxed when they're having their hair washed. Something about the warm water and scalp massage. Somewhere in the next ten minutes I would convince him to take his prescription.

"How do I turn the water on?" I asked, pushing buttons, hopping out of the way of the waterfall head just in time.

He laughed and pointed to the right faucet. "You're pretty agile, Steph. I was kind of looking forward to seeing you soaking wet." He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows

"Seriously, you're unbelievably amusing today." Where would I be without sarcasm? I hit the right faucet this time and adjusted the water temperature. "Lean back a bit. I'll do this for you." He looked like he was going to argue for a second but relented, leaning his head against the tiled ledge on the wall. As soon as the warm water touched his head his whole body relaxed, even his breathing deepened and slowed. Grabbing the shampoo, I rubbed the delicious smelling lather into his longish hair, really massaging his scalp. "This okay?" I asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the peacefulness in here.

"Feels so good," he murmured.

"Your leg?"

He smiled, "I can ignore it for right now."

I took a second to really look at him. From the first time I'd seen him all those years ago, I'd thought he was gorgeous. I might have even had a little crush on him. But, I was a 27 year old incredibly driven attorney, looking to make an impression in an overwhelmingly male dominated field. He was a 20 year old incredibly gifted college student. I had shut that avenue of thought right down. If anything had happened or if I even appeared to be starry eyed over my first big client, I would've been laughed out of my job. At the time my career was far more important than anything else. Still is really. At least that's what my last boyfriend accused me of when we broke up. "You're constantly on the phone for your clients," Bobby would say. It was kind of true, but he was an attorney too and I could accuse him of the same thing. I broke that off a month before Christmas. Our opinions on pretty much everything clashed and the constant arguing grated on my nerves. The only thing that I really missed was the frequent, good sex. Something I was becoming increasingly aware of standing here over this magnificent, nearly naked man. Even just running my hands through that thick hair of his was making things tingle. Add to that that every visible inch of him was perfectly, thickly, muscled. If I didn't employ that same ignore-it-and-it'll-go-away technique of long ago again soon, I might be in serious trouble here. I turned the water back on and rinsed the bubbles from his hair.

"Here," his eyes snapped open and focused on me as I spoke. "All done." I reached over him and grabbed a towel. "You can do the rest?"

"Yeah." He sat up, shifting on the bench. His injured leg slipped from the box it was propped on. He tensed all over as I grabbed the bottom of his foot before it could bang against the floor. "Fuuuuuuccccckkkk," he groaned.

"Shit! Are you okay?" I started patting his leg, cursing the stupid fucking cast because I couldn't see if something was wrong. "Should I call Scott?"

He was white lipped and breathing harshly. "No it's fine. Just, please, stop touching it!"

I yanked my hands away, feeling totally useless. "I'm so sorry." I bit my lip and grabbed the towel, shocked that I was actually close to tears. "What can I do? You wanted a sponge bath right?"

A little of his good mood returned. "That might help, yes."

I got to work drying the excess water from his hair and only getting marginally distracted by the little rivulets of water dripping down his body. He shifted and winced again.

 _Okay, it's time_.

I soaped up the washcloth and smoothed it over his back. "Carlos?"

"Yes?"

I put a touch of begging in my voice. "I know you don't want to, but I think maybe it's time for you to take some of the meds that Scott sent you home with."

"I really don't want to, Steph." He didn't sound as adamant as before

I started working on his shoulders and arms. And tried another track. "How about before you go to bed tonight?" I moved to his chest. "How does your leg feel after that slip?"

He looked up at me a little abashed. "It's throbbing like crazy."

"If it still feels like that later, will you take it then?" He looked like he was going to say no. "Please?" He softened slightly. "It'll help you sleep better. And, if you sleep better, then so will I." I moved on to his abs, being careful to stay above his belly button. "Please?"

"Fine," he relented. "But, only right before I go to bed."

I couldn't help but smile in victory. He rolled his eyes but smiled too.

Okay, now I had a conundrum. While I washed his upper body, I had my manipulative plan to focus on. I'd won that battle. Now that was over and we still had his good leg and other _lower body_ areas to tackle. Realizing that required far more fortitude than I possessed, I rinsed the washcloth, re-soaped it and handed it to him. "You're on your own with the last part."

He side-eyed me. "I never thought of you as a quitter before, Steph."

"Live and learn, my friend. I'll be over there." I stepped out of the stall and sat on the edge of the big free standing tub, facing away. I didn't even sneak a peak in the mirror.

He shut the water off and I listened as he toweled himself off. "Steph, can you hand me the crutches?" He asked after a minute.

I hopped up and tried to not drool. His boxers were in a wet heap on the tile by his foot and he had draped a towel around his middle. The contrast between the white, fluffy towel and the deep golden-tan of his skin was just…

I handed them to him silently. Sure that if I tried to speak, my tongue might unroll like a cartoon character. "Can I ask you for a big favor?" He asked. I only nodded in reply, still too tongue-tied. "Can you fix the towel around my waist?"

"Uh, yes, sure," I managed. He wasn't asking that for his sake. He was used to being naked around a lot of people in the locker room. Between players, training staff, coaches, and reporters, it was usually a pretty big crowd in there. Football players weren't known for their modesty. To him it was probably no big deal if I saw him in all his glory. He was asking that for my sake.

I stood close as he rose, worried that the crutches might slip out from underneath him on the wet tile. I caught the towel before it could slip all the way down. My cheek, a hair's breadth from his chest as I got the towel secured. I really hoped his parents were here by the time he needed another shower. I didn't think I'd survive another one.

He stopped in his closet on the way out of the bathroom and tried to balance and open a drawer.

"I'll get it, what do you need?" I pulled the drawer open and was faced with a myriad of undies. "Which ones?"

He really grinned then. "You pick."

I grabbed the ones at the top and followed him to the bed, he sat on the edge. Without discussion, I slipped the boxers over his feet and brought them up to his knees. "You got it from here? I'll be right back." I didn't wait for his answer. I fled to the living room and tried to calm down. Remember what I said about his appeal? Well, he was magnetically appealing to me right now, and I wasn't dealing very well with it. Not only was I feeling horribly unprofessional things for a client, he was seriously injured and vulnerable. Add to that, I was disgustingly moral for a lawyer and he was still technically dating someone else. Even if I couldn't stand her, I had more self-worth than to get involved with an unavailable man. That last was moot anyway. If he was interested in me for anything more than guiding his career, he would've indicated that in some way over the last 12 years we had known each other.

 _UGH! Totally overthinking this! It's not astounding that I find a beautiful man attractive when he's almost naked right in front of_ _me!_

Grabbing Ereck's gift and card, I went back to his bedroom. He was still sitting on the edge of the bed, back to the door, staring through the window at the now lit up NY skyline. "I meant to show you this before, but you were sleeping."

He saw what I was holding and barked out a laugh. "Where did those come from?" He asked as I slipped them over his feet. They were just baggy enough that they fit over his cast.

"Ereck."

He snorted. "Do you have any idea how many times he apologized yesterday?" He stood on his good leg, balancing with my shoulders. I pulled his new pants all the way up.

"Yes, I heard him." I smiled up at him. "He felt so bad."

His hands tightened slightly on my shoulders. "You looked really worried too."

"I was. I'd never seen you in so much pain. And then I saw your leg…" I bit my lip and swallowed, that damn lump in my throat had reappeared.

"Hey," he said gently, looking pretty aware that I was about to cry. "It'll get better eventually. I'll be running in no time."

I looked down, fighting tears. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm supposed to be making you feel better, not the other way around." I rubbed my eyes roughly. "I must be more tired than I realized. I'm getting too old for all- nighters anymore."

He pulled me into a really tight hug. Surprising me with the action and the strength behind it. "Thank-you for being here with me. It means a lot to me, Steph." I found myself smiling, resting my cheek against the base of his neck, my hands splayed on his wide, warm back, the thump of his heart steady and soothing.

It wasn't until I felt and heard his stomach growl that I managed to pull away from him. "I'm going to get us something to eat and you are going to get comfy on this enormous bed. I'll be right back."

That grin was back. "Si jefe!"

I walked away as he fell back onto that enticingly comfy looking bed. A smile to match his stretched across my face.

 **Yeah, so, he could've washed himself, but I think she deserved to get her hands on him here. To get an idea of their homes you can google Hoboken condo for him. His is modern but still very comfortable. Steph's brownstone is a three story beauty in Brooklyn Heights and is basically my dream home. Google search Brooklyn brownstone and you'll get the idea.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Time for him to speak up I think.**

RPOV

I woke up slowly on Saturday morning, a little fuzzy from the codeine, but not all that bad. I had expected to feel hung over, Steph had been right about that too. I would never have caved about the pain meds if she hadn't looked at me the way she did, those baby blues pleading with me. And then she had to go and throw in the clincher, saying that she would sleep better if I took it. She had gotten about 3 minutes of sleep the night before and was looking more tired than I'd ever seen her. If it meant that she'd get some sleep then I would take the stuff.

She really had no clue how much power she had over me. I was a junior in college when I signed with Kratos, they paired me with Stephanie and she just blew me away. No other woman had as much influence in my life as she did from that moment on, not even my mother. She has never given me bad advice, not once. Always steering me in the right direction as far as endorsements go, and she could negotiate a contract like you wouldn't believe.

And now here she was again, taking care of me when shit was looking pretty bleak.

I had passed out last night after she'd drugged me up. I didn't even know where Steph had ended up sleeping. My leg didn't feel all that bad right now, just a low level thrumming. The second I moved I knew that would change. But I'd been injured plenty of times before, I knew it would stop hurting, eventually. Sitting up, I found her. She was passed out face down on the couch just a few feet away. Her arms were flung out, the blanket she'd pulled over herself only covering part of one very long leg. Those damn shorts she had on had ridden up and the lower curve of her butt cheek was showing.

 _Damn._

It took some serious effort to get to the bathroom without making too much noise. She needed to rest and I needed to figure out how to get around without being impeded by the burning fucking fire that was happening just south of my knee. Honestly, without the distraction of the perfect ass she had inadvertently granted me, I don't know if I'd have made it there at all.

She found me in the kitchen 5 minutes later, cursing my leg, cast, and crutches.

"Does that make it feel better?" She laughed. Her voice was husky with sleep, her hair was a huge mess, her cheeks were pink and the seam from the edge of the couch was imprinted on her forehead. And, it was really freaking great to have her here looking all soft and warm first thing in the morning with me. Way back when I met her, I had pictured a scenario like this, but the night preceding was definitely not spent the way last night was.

"Yes," I felt a grudging smile break out. "It really does."

She shook her head. "What are you doing out here anyway. Why didn't you wake me up?"

"Coffee. I really needed some coffee." My cursing had started when I had let go of one crutch to grab some mugs and watched helplessly as the damn thing crashed to the ground.

She strode my way and picked it up. Pulling out a stool at the island, she gestured me to sit. "Just let me go to the bathroom and I'll take care of it."

"Steph..."

She cut my protest off. "Carlos, seriously, it's not a big deal. I just need to brush my teeth and pee and I'll be back. I'll even get you something to eat. You can have real food today." She disappeared before I could say anything else. I really appreciated her taking care of me like she was, but I didn't want her to feel like she had to wait on me.

I was still brooding when she came back a little more alert, with her hair pulled back and one of my sweatshirts in her hand. "Do you mind if I borrow this? I'm freezing."

"Take whatever you need, you're going to drown in it though." No joke, I was nearly a foot taller than she was and outweighed her by at least 130 pounds.

She shrugged and pulled it over her head. The effect wasn't what I thought it'd be. The hem of it hit a millimeter longer than those shorts she still had on, making it look like she was wearing _only_ that hoodie.

 _Damn._

I could not take my eyes off her legs as she made coffee for us both. Even as she came back to the island with a spoon and yogurt for me, I had a hard time looking up.

"Eyes up here, buddy."

I just pointed to her legs. "I mean; do you really expect me to not look?" She'd done plenty of looking yesterday too.

She laughed. "Not after the stuff you were saying right before you fell asleep last night."

 _Shit._

She had always put out an I'm-unavailable vibe. In the beginning I would try and get her to respond to me, but she was so professional that I backed off and tried to respect that. I also felt like she looked at me as a little kid, not quite little brother, but too much younger than her at least. In the past, after a few drinks I'd let those inhibitions slip and come on to her. I had a blurry memory in the recovery room where I'm pretty sure I told her that I had always thought she was "fucking beautiful" as well. I rubbed my forehead, not sure I wanted to ask.

I asked anyway. "Um, what did I say?"

"You don't want to know." She turned to grab the coffee. "Don't worry, you were under the influence and I won't hold you to your word." She set my cup down by my elbow and I caught hold of the front of my hoodie, slipping my fingers in the center pocket so she couldn't escape.

"What did I say?" I asked again. She started to pull away, but I gave her the look that usually made her give in. When she sighed I knew I'd won.

"Ugh, fine, you said that you wanted me to…" she looked down at her feet and mumbled something.

 _Shit, Steph didn't embarrass easily._ "What?"

She took a deep breath, but still wouldn't meet my eyes. "You said, that, uh, geez, you were just loopy okay?"

"Steph. Now I'm worried." Christ, did I say she was fired or some dumb shit like that?

"No! It was complimentary, sort of." She inhaled again and squared her shoulders, meeting my eyes again. "You said you wanted me to climb on your bed and let you fuck me like you wanted to when you were a kid."

 _Shit._ _No more pain meds for me._

"Steph… I'm…"

"No, Carlos, it's okayyou don't need to explain. Really. It's okay." She'd gone quiet

And of course, this is when the doorbell rings right? There were only two possibilities as to who was behind the front door at this time of the morning. Both were welcome 99% of the time, this was that 1% when they weren't.

"I'll get it," she said quietly.

She already had the door open before I made it out of the kitchen.

"Stephanie!" That was Bobby Ayers, teammate, good friend, and neighbor.

"Hey, beautiful!" And Lester Santos, another teammate, neighbor and as it turns out a distant cousin four times removed, or something like that.

We all stood for a second, Steph in my sweatshirt, me in just pajama pants and crutches, and my two gossipiest buddies, whose eyes were ping-ponging between the two of us.

"Well," she said after the awkward moment seemed like it wouldn't abate. "I'm going to go and get dressed."

She bustled past me and grabbed her things out of the dryer, "Go sit, I'll be right back."

I nodded them into the kitchen when she closed the bathroom door behind her.

Lester spoke first, "Duuuuuuuuuuude, wait till Tia finds out!" My mother might've had a thing about me and Stephanie one day becoming a couple.

"You sly fucker, you always said nothing was going on between you." Bobby chimed in.

"Nothing happened," I told them.

They both looked at me skeptically.

"Really," I insisted. "You do see this, right?" I pointed to my leg.

"Yeah, shit they gave you a cast too?" Lester said, shifting gears. "Did they say how long you'd be out?"

"No clue yet. I'll know more in a couple of weeks when they take out the stitches. Scott said it was bad."

"Damn, that sucks." Bobby cut in. "I'm going to hate winning this game without you."

"You better win it," I told them. "I got hurt on that sweep that McAdoo wants to run during the game. I want that shit to be smooth as silk and be the damn game winner."

I still hadn't fully wrapped my head around the fact that I'd be missing the super-bowl next week. I'd be on the sidelines, but it's just not the same thing.

Steph reappeared in the kitchen doorway, bundled up in her clothes from the other day and her heavy coat. "Hey guys, I'm going to go get some bagels and juice for everybody. You'll keep an eye on Carlos?"

"Yes Ma'am." Bobby snapped a little salute, she rolled her eyes and handed me my phone.

"I charged this last night. You have a few phone calls you might want to return. I'm taking your keys so I can get back in. I'll be back in a bit."

And then she was gone.

They both opened their mouths to start in again, but I cut them off. "Go sit in the living room." I stood slowly, shoving the phone in my pocket. "I'll be there in a minute."

I gimped down the hallway and managed to throw on a shirt without falling over and contemplated the wisdom of sending an apology text to her.

I eventually sent her _**I'm sorry**_. I didn't want to add to that because I didn't want to lie to her. I had wanted her to do that when I was a kid and at other times as well. But given her reaction, she still wasn't interested and I had upset her. For that, I was sorry.

Her only response was _**stop, it's okay.**_

We were on the couch watching game film when she got back. She had a huge paper bag in each hand and went straight into the kitchen. I hobbled my way in there. She was unpacking bagels and packages of toppings. "Here, I'll get that." She just shot me a look that made me back off a bit.

She held out her hand to stay me and asked, "Do you have a big plate to put these on?"

"Yeah, it's over there in that cabinet, top shelf." I indicated which one, but move to get it. The thing about being my height is you tend to put stuff where you can reach it. Even for her it would be out of reach. But she got there first. When she realized that I was there too, she whirled around to stop me. What happened next was one of the most satisfying accidents of my life. I stepped in closer to get the plate she needed and let go of one crutch. When I reached up, I tipped forward on my left leg. My forward momentum continuing until she was pressed back against the counter, facing me. Her hands automatically landing on my hips.

"Oof, Carlos! Are you okay?" Hell yes I was okay. The whole front of her was tight to the front of me.

What broken leg?

I looked down at her and nodded. She didn't seem to be all that big of a hurry to move either and the longer we stood there staring at each other, the darker her eyes got.

 _Hmmmmm._

"You guys!" Lester yelled from the living room. "Are you bringing that food in here or what?"

I backed away still locking eyes with her. "Get in here lazyass." I yelled back, "this isn't a restaurant." She smiled then and looked down, breaking the connection.

"There were some reporters loitering outside." She told me, grabbing up the bagels. "My office and the team released a statement saying that you were out indefinitely, but that your surgery was successful. I don't know what they're hanging around for."

"Okay, thanks."

"Of course. I thought you should know in case you want to go out with your parents later." She turned and almost ran into Lester in the doorway.

"Here," he said grabbing the food. "I'm here to do the grunt-work for Limpy the Lame Tight End." He flashed her a cheesy grin, flexed a bicep and led the way to the living room.

I was left behind, a little stunned at how she could be so business-like after she was so… what? Receptive? I don't know if that's the right word, but _something_ just happened in here.

 **Getting warmer now. We have a few issues to work through with these two, but I think they'll get there.**

 **Let me know what you thought. I really love to hear from everyone!**

 **Thanks for reading,**

 **Love,**

 **EA xoxox**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello loves. Thought you might like an update before I go climb into my lovely, comfy bed.**

 **Thanks for the all the feedback. Love hearing from you all.**

 **Oh, yeah. JE might have created the characters, but this plot is all mine.**

RPOV

Les and Bobby left for practice after inhaling almost all the food Steph had brought back. They had shot me many, many significant looks and smirks but had managed, just barely, to refrain from saying anything more about Steph and me. They were really pumped about practice when they left, leaving me behind and seriously feeling like the scrawny kid that never got picked for a team in grade school. Yeah, yeah, I know, broken leg, blah, blah, blah. This hobbling around shit was getting old.

Steph had commandeered my dining room table and was slaving away at her laptop. I'd never seen her take as much time off as she did the last two days and I felt profoundly self-centered as I watched her return calls, reply to emails and take care of her other clients. The end of the season meant that this was probably the busiest time of year for a sports agent. So many deals, contracts and trades were underway. Add to that she was dealing with the possible end of my career.

 _The end…_

In order to stop that shitty line of thought, I made the mistake of checking the messages and calls that Steph had told me about. There were a few from my mom and dad. Their flight was delayed through Denver, but they should get into Newark around eleven tonight. I arranged for a car service to pick them up and bring them here. Then I took a deep breath, tried to push down my disgust and read through the first of 50, _fifty,_ messages from Jeanne. I won't bore you with the details. Just know that they started in as conciliatory fashion as a vapid, completely self-absorbed person can muster and ended in an all caps rant because I hadn't answered her at all. Her last text coming through as I stared in amazement at the ridiculousness on my phone screen.

 **I guess SHE'S there and that's why you're ignoring me. ASSHOLE!**

I really have no idea why I hadn't broken it off with her almost right away. We never really saw each other all that much anyway. Jeanne had been pretty nice at first and I'll admit that I was knocked out a bit by her face and body. It took five or six dates to figure out that she could be a total asshole when she wanted to. Most of the events we had attended until then had been charity functions or movie openings. Those functions don't hold much time for actual get-to-know-you conversations. It wasn't until we had gone to a new restaurant in the city that I realized what she was really like. She was nasty to our server before she could even ask what we'd like to drink. When the poor woman said she'd have to ask the chef if the Kobe beef was grass fed or not, Jeanne said some really degrading shit to her. You'd think that in the age of rampant social media shaming Jeanne would be smart enough to at least be civil to people in the service industry. I'm guessing my profuse apologizing and the massive tip I ended up leaving were enough to keep her viciousness quiet. More than she deserved, honestly.

The only reason why we'd made it through the last year together was that she had left the day after that to film in Sweden for six months. By the time she got back pre-season had started and between practice, workouts, and then games and travel, the only thing I had time for was inhaling some food before passing out at night. In fact, the only time we'd seen each other lately was after the last home game before the playoffs began. She had thrown a tantrum because I had had to be at a post-game press conference and she had had to wait for me. That really had been the final straw for me, but getting actual face-time to end it had been impossible. She had left immediately from there for a press junket. And now here we are, her thousands of miles, away and me, contemplating being the douche that breaks up with someone over the phone or via text. It really was way past time to do it, I just didn't have the energy to keep this up.

While I mulled it over another message popped up.

 **SHE IS THERE. THERE'S FUCKING PICTURES ON TMZ OF HER LEAVING YOUR BUILDING THIS MORNING. WHY IS SHE THERE?**

Before I could think better of it, I fired back.

 **If you're referring to Steph, yes she is here. And, you don't have to worry about it. We are done. Fucking finished.**

I felt like an ass for being intentionally vague about why Steph was here, but are you kidding? Asking me why a good friend is at my house two days after I had a six-hour long surgery?

She sent something else back as I was powering my phone down. There was no need to check it. Her drama always followed the same course and now, just like that, I was free of it.

It took all of three minutes to realize it wouldn't be that simple. Steph's phone started ringing and she answered before I could warn her.

"Steph, don't…"

She turned to look at me as she raised the phone to her ear. "Hello?" She winced and held the phone away from her. I could hear the yelling from my side of the room. She rolled her eyes and mouthed, _what did you do?_

I mouthed back, _dumped her._

She raised her eyebrows, a slow smile spreading. "Jeanne…" her smile grew some more, "Jeanne…" the screeching increased in pitch. "JEANNE!" She snapped. "You want to be careful about those threats." Steph listened for a beat. "Well, that would be considered libel, and we'd have to take steps." She listened again. "I'll contact your publicist then, have a great day." The grin on her face as she ended the call was luminous. Nothing got Steph going like the opportunity for some legal sparring. Her phone started ringing again, but she silenced the call.

"Steph, I'm…"

"Hold on," she said, finger up for me to give her a second. "Let me just block her or it'll be going all day."

"I'm sorry."

She just waved her hand dismissively. "No big. I graduated Dartmouth with her agent and publicist. Connie will handle her. God knows the poor woman should get hazard pay, if that phone call was anything to go by. It might get ugly for a while though if she does follow through on the threats she was just throwing at me." She turned away again and began composing an email. "If I do this now we can try to limit any shitstorm that hits the media. You wouldn't believe some of the shit that she was saying. One thing in your favor, everyone loves you and hates her." She shook her head. "She actually thinks people will think that you're cheating on her, with me of all people. I'm almost forty for fuck's sake." She ended with a mutter.

"Completely ancient. Yes." I countered sarcastically. I hated that she'd say things like that. Age seemed to be a big deal to her, but I hadn't been lying when I had told her in an anesthesia-laced haze that she was "fucking beautiful". She was, I had always thought so, inside and out. And, since I could still feel her pressed against me from this morning, I was becoming increasingly aware of how much I still wanted her after all this time, even with my current invalid status. Steph could convince a monk to cheat on his vows with just a smile.

She finished her email, sent it with a flourish and stood, stretching her arms over her head. "Want something?" She asked, nodding her head towards the kitchen.

It took a beat for me to catch her actual meaning, rather than the immediate pornesque path my mind went down. "Yeah, um, water, please." She smiled and moved away. It took all my energy not to follow her into the kitchen and spill my guts. I knew her too well to think that she would just shrug and say okay to… I don't even know what I wanted to happen from here on out.

She called an end to her work day not long after that, parking herself on couch with me. Occasionally commenting on the game film I was watching again.

"Does this bother you?" She asked later as she watched me catch a long pass and tear over the goal line on the screen.

"Nah," I stopped to think better. "Yeah, a little."

"That we don't know if…?" Thankfully she didn't finish her question.

"That, yes. And, that my first thought watching that was, I got totally lucky on that catch. If Cleary hadn't tackled Vollmer I would've been splattered all over the field the second I caught the ball."

She laughed, "What you have, honey, is talent. I don't think luck plays that big of a part in your game." I started to protest. "Carlos, you forget, I've been watching you play for a long time. No way Vollmer would've caught you on that pass."

Steph had always had this way of praising you without being overly effusive. She could bolster me through a slump like no other.

I shrugged that off, "But, yeah, the part that's getting to me right now is that it's totally fucking useless going over this. I might never run this route again."

"Carlos," she said quietly. She laid her hand on my arm. "We don't know that yet."

"But it's a good possibility," I answered, a little morose.

Her hand slid up my arm to the neck, she pulled until leaned my head on her shoulder. If the sudden emotion hitting me had been even a little bit less intense I would've laughed at the picture we must've made. _Me_ leaning on _her_ for comfort.

"There's no point in worrying right now. Not until you know for sure," she murmured, her cheek pressed against the top of my head. "I had at least three teams this year poking around for you for coaching. Two of whom you really liked and you were talking about that charity you wanted to start up. If Scott gives you bad news, I'll keep you so busy you won't know what to do with yourself." She patted my good leg. We had had more physical contact in the last two days than we had had in the last twelve years. Each time she touched me, even innocently like this, made something hum inside me.

I picked my head up and looked at her, my face closer to hers than I realized. "Oh yeah?" I couldn't help the flirt from slipping out.

Her breath caught and her eyes widened, darkening slightly. "Are you flirting with me?" She chuckled and rolled those eyes. "Did you take your meds already?"

I didn't move away. "No."

Her lips parted like she was about to say something, but nothing came out for a beat. "Which question are you answering?" She finally whispered.

I was saved by the bell, literally, the intercom buzzed. I started to get up but she beat me to it. Have I mentioned that this leg thing was getting old? She came back after a second. "I had dinner delivered. Your doorman's bringing it up."

A couple of hours later found us still on the couch. I had committed to staying awake until my parents got here, but it was proving very difficult. Especially as Steph had passed out not long after dinner. The big meal must've had a soporific effect on her because one minute she was watching the snow drifting past the window against the backdrop of the west side of Manhattan, and the next her face was turned to me, her body curled against the back of the couch, eyes shut, breathing softly. She had looked uncomfortable perched there, so I eased her down to rest her head on my good leg. My hand had been itching to touch her since then and I finally gave in, smoothing back a stray curl from her cheek. The smoothness of her skin, startling. So much so, I very gently traced my fingers down the side of her long neck, just barely feeling the pulse at the base. The repeated motion and the softness of her pulled my heavy eyelids down and that's how my parents found us two hours later.

The look on my mother's face not quite what I expected after what felt like a lifetime of hint dropping about who she wanted as a daughter-in-law from me.

 **Dun-dun-dun! What could Mama Manoso be upset about, hmmm?**

 **Let me know what you thought. Pretty please?**

 **Thanks for reading,**

 **Love,**

 **EA xoxox**


	5. Chapter 5

**An issue was brought up in a review and I want to address it here. Yes, Stephanie is older than Carlos by seven years, she talked about that in chapter 1. Ms. Plum is 39 and our wounded tight end is 32. She could hardly have been through college, law school and have become established in her career enough to be entrusted with nabbing a Heisman winner and future superstar within the age gap I'm writing, let alone have her being closer in age to him. The labeling of her as a "cougar", as one reviewer put it, I find abhorrent and indicative of the deeply rooted misogyny in our culture. Equating a woman with a type of predatory animal that typically tears its prey to shreds simply because she is interested in or is seeing a younger man is, I think, repugnant. Would anyone have an issue if he were seven years older than she? More than likely, not. But, if anyone can't handle that, they are quite welcome to bow out and not read on. For the readers that are digging the changeup in ages, I am too, as is the wonderful lady this was written for. It's allowing me to write a conflict I haven't sunk my teeth into yet. And, my hubby is a year and three months younger than I ;-p**

 **Technically these characters belong to JE, but this plot is all mine.**

SPOV

Waking up with my head on Carlos' rock hard thigh with his big warm hand resting on the side of my neck, and seeing the surprised faces of Maria and Juan in front of us was incredibly disconcerting. I'd never felt awkward in front of his family or his teammates before. The increase in intimacy over the last couple of days had changed things though, for me at least. There was a tension there now and I couldn't decide if I liked it or not.It wasn't uncomfortable per se, but a couple of times yesterday, he'd looked at me in a way that made it the tiniest bit hard to breathe. All I knew was that I could beat a hasty retreat now because my relief nurses were here.

Hopping up, I fixed my sweater from where it had ridden up and hugged a silent Maria, "I'm sorry you guys had to cut your vacation short." I backed up and hugged Juan. "Where are your bags?" I saw them over his shoulder and moved to get them. "You guys must be so tired! Here let me get these in the guest room and I'll hit the road."

 _Yes, I'm aware this made two times in one day that I'd fled from pretty much the same scenario._

I was already down the hallway, suitcases in hand by the time Carlos got up from the couch. He stopped me as I reemerged from the guest room and tried to dodge past him to make my exit. The sheer size of him blocking my path. "Where are you going?" He asked, his voice gravelly from sleep.

"Home."

He didn't seem to like that. "Why?"

"Your parents are here." I looked over his shoulder, but they must've gone into the kitchen. "You don't need me anymore."

He sighed deeply. "Look, just stay tonight. It's late."

I laughed, "I'll be fine, I'm a big girl. My car is still at the practice facility from the other day. I'll uber home and text you when I get there."

He stepped a little closer, _there goes that ability to breathe again_ , "If you do that, then I'll have to go with you."

"Don't be ridiculous. You need to rest!"

He raised his eyebrows, a smirk tugging the corners of his mouth up. "Then don't make me. Stay here." The smirk fell and that big-eyed, sad look appeared.

 _Fuck. Manipulative little shit._

"Fine, ugh." He battled with his face for a second, but the triumphant grin won out. "I am taking custody of your bathroom for a few though. That's my fee for allowing you to badger me, non-negotiable."

"It's yours." He backed up a bit. "Take as long as you need."

Maria walked towards us and hugged him. "Your dad and I are going to bed. I've lost track of the last time we've slept. Do you need help with anything?"

"I'm good, Mama." He ducked so she could kiss his cheek.

"We'll talk in the morning," she told him and turned to me. "You're not going home now are you?"

I shook my head. "I'll go in the morning."

She kissed my cheek too. "Good, it's freezing out. I want to talk to you too."

 _Ugh, I wonder what about._

Half an hour later found us having a whispered argument about sleeping arrangements. He was being a moron, insisting that I take his bed. I was having none of it, I could handle that couch under the window again. He had been wincing every time he moved all day and was being a butthead about taking his pain meds, claiming that it didn't hurt all that much. Big, strong guy or not, having your leg broken in six different places, cut open, two plates inserted, and a total of twelve screws holding the shards together had to be freaking excruciating. When he offered to share the bed, I wavered for a second. But the immediate image of me kicking his leg in the middle of the night, sprung to mind. There were a few other images that popped up too, but it's probably best not to think about those.

He wasn't in any condition for that right now anyway.

By the time I finally closed my eyes, he was in his bed, alone, and by the dim light of the skyline from across the Hudson, still pouting. He may have my number as far as getting me to give in to something I secretly wanted anyway, but I did have _some_ self-control.

I'll admit that I thought about ducking out in the morning, but he gave me that face again and I ended up helping him wash up again. I know, poor me, right? You'd think helping him the other day would've made me a little immune to his, well, everything. Turns out that he isn't something you can become inured to. Not when that smile of his was accompanied by the intelligence in his eyes un-dulled by pain meds and post-op exhaustion. When the owner of that incredible intellect looked like Carlos did stripped down to his boxer briefs, water droplets and soap dripping down beautifully defined muscles; ugh, there wasn't a woman alive that wouldn't be drooling.

Sexy bastard.

The "talk" started out walking his parents through his injury and surgery. Maria got teary when she heard that the prognosis was not certain and when I showed her some of the pictures I had taken of his x-rays.

It got awkward though, sure enough. Maria cleared her throat and looked from me to her son after all the minutiae of his leg had been discussed, "so, I got a phone call yesterday." Carlos looked down and rubbed his forehead. "Your girlfriend…"

"Ex-girlfriend," he interrupted.

"Thank god for small mercies," she continued. "She called me yesterday, saying that she thought that you were doing something… inappropriate with Stephanie."

"What did you say?" He asked.

His father piped in, "That you would never do something so disrespectful to our Stephanie."

I had to bite my lip to not burst into laughter. Of course Juan would be protective of me and not her.

Carlos wasn't as successful. "Ha! What did she say to that?"

"She started cursing and yelling so I hung up on her," Maria said. "Honestly sweetheart, I never liked her, you know that. What did she think? I know she surrounds herself with people who worship her and agree with her every word, but did she think cursing you out was going to get me on her side? Idiot." She shook her head in disgust. "But then we got here last night and you two were on the couch like that. Is there something going on?"

 _Whoa!_

No one could cut through bullshit like Maria. I cleared my throat to respond but he beat me to it.

"Steph's been taking care of me, Mama. That's it." She looked at him closely, a look on her face that was mirrored on her husband's, skepticism mixed with hopefulness. That, more than anything, warmed me. I had known that his parents liked me, it was evident in their insistence that I be invited to various family functions over the years. But that hope was a slightly watered down version of my own mother's every time she asked me about my love life.

"Yes, well your brothers have been sending me links to some articles on line that say to the contrary."

 _Shiiiiiiiiiit._

I hopped up and grabbed my phone from the dining room table. My stomach doing a freefall through my abdomen. I had three emails from the CEO of Kratos overnight and two from Connie. I knew that this whole thing wouldn't blow over immediately like I had made Carlos think, but if Andrew was emailing me at 3 am on a Sunday morning, I had a big problem.

"Steph?"

I looked up at him, "Um, I should probably get going. Take care of this." I wiggled my phone in his direction.

I opened the first email and felt a bit sick. My boss was pissed about the rumors swirling and wanted to see me first thing tomorrow morning. Fucking Jeanne. If it wasn't for her celebrity status, people wouldn't care less _who_ was here taking care of Carlos.

This was going to be a nightmare to clean up. I'd been through PR disasters with clients before, but never with Carlos and never directly involving me.

The first email from Connie was an official assurance that her client had no intention of going public with her suspicions because she had warned her the negative consequences of her total failure to show any concern at all about him being injured might outweigh any sympathy that she was hoping to garner.

Her second was a much more Connie-ish rant about the ridiculousness she has to deal with on a daily basis while babysitting whiny famous people.

Yes, poor mega-movie star off minding her own business skiing with her groupies regardless of her professional athlete boyfriend sustaining a most-likely career ending injury. Shouldn't he have had the decency to languish at home all alone and suffer in silence till she deigns to get her bony ass on a plane and come see him? Should the willing and able friend and agent who had a vested interest in him regaining his health, not have volunteered to see to him until a family member was able to take over? And now, because I'm a woman, we have to be fucking according to the media. Because no one of the opposite sex can possibly be in the same room without having lascivious thoughts and be incapable of not acting on them, even if one of those people was ridiculously gorgeous.

"…Steph!" He was right next to me and I hadn't even noticed, I'd been so caught up in my mental rant.

"What?"

"I called your name four times. I've never seen you turn that color before. Are you okay?" He nodded me out of earshot of his parents in the kitchen. "I'm sorry that you got dragged into this," he told me as he collapsed into a chair by the window. "I just looked online. It's a lot of rumors, but from what I've seen they're just floating around bullshit. They're not flat out saying that we're up here banging each other's brains out. She'll be dating some other poor schmuck by next week and they'll start following them around instead."

"With any luck. Andrew needs to see me first thing tomorrow. He's not happy."

"Wait, you're not in trouble, right? I'll go with you. You can't be in trouble just l because I begged you to stay with me, Steph." He grabbed my hand and tugged until I was sitting on the arm of the chair next to him.

"I can handle Andrew." I paused for a second, unsure if it was wise to voice what I was really concerned about. I would feel like I was lying if I didn't though. "What I won't be able to handle, though, is if… if I'm looked at differently professionally."

He squeezed my hand. "What do you mean?"

I sighed deeply. "How many women do you work with?"

He raised his eyebrows and thought for a beat. "Not many, I have you, and there's a few ladies in the front office. They hired that new trainer last month. That's pretty much it as far as _work with_. But there's more women getting involved each season, announcing, analyzing, reffing, and coaching."

"Carlos, you have no idea how hard it was for me to break into this business. If any one of those women even gave the appearance of fraternizing with a player, she'd be vilified by the people that railed against her being hired in the first place." I stood to go, but he held me there, as much by the distress in his eyes as his grip on my hand.

"Steph, I…"

"Stop. You don't need to apologize. I'm here because I want to be. No amount of begging would've made me stay if I didn't want to. I am going to go though. See what I can do about all this. If I stay any longer, who knows what those idiots will put out there."

He looked like he was going to argue, but only nodded silently, finally letting go of my hand.

I'm not going to lie; I didn't want to leave.

I grabbed my things, hugged his parents goodbye and turned to go, surprised when he followed me down the hallway to the door. "Go, and sit, you're moving around too much. I'll let you know what happens tomorrow."

He ignored me and clomped the rest of the way, stopping only when he was partially blocking the front door. "I'm going with you tomorrow."

"No you're not."

He shook his head and leaned back against the door. "I'm going because Andrew needs to… look, I'm _your_ client. I never would've used Kratos if it weren't for you. He needs to know that. I also think he needs to see this." He chin nodded his cast. "If I was going to try to get you into my bed, I'd at least wait until this thing wasn't still attached to me."

I wish I could've laughed that little joke off, but the way he'd dropped his voice so his mother didn't hear him made it hard to make any sound at all.

 _Holy shit, were my cheeks on fire?_

He set his crutches against the hall table and pulled me into him. And there we were again, like yesterday morning in the kitchen, sandwiched together. Parts of him against parts of me that liked those _parts_ way more than they had a right to. "It's the least I could do, Steph," he said quietly, his chin on the top of my head. I looked up at him with every intention to tell him that he didn't owe me anything. The words died before I could get them out. He was looking at me like _that_ again. He saw my capitulation, but didn't get cocky. "Thank-you," he whispered instead. "For being here, and for letting me go tomorrow." He lowered his face, and for one heart-stopping second I thought he was going to kiss me, but he went slightly right and kissed my cheek instead. This was no air kiss though, this was a full-lipped, soft, lingering kiss that really got things thumping again in my chest.

I knew that I had a problem when I could still feel his lips on me in the cab all the way to get my car and then all the way home. Even as I tried to coax some hot water out of my old shower head, he was still there.

My only comfort, knowing that like any other one sided crush, it would eventually go away now that I wouldn't be constantly around him anymore.

 **Hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought, pretty please?**

 **Thanks for reading,**

 **Love,**

 **EA xoxo**


	6. Chapter 6

**He's up this time.**

 **JE might've created them, but this plot is all mine.**

RPOV

I love my life. I get to play the greatest sport there is, that I'm good at, _and_ get paid really well for it. But, this kind of crazy scrutiny into my personal life was ridiculous. Seriously, why do people care who I spend time with? And now, Steph had been sucked into the drama circus that follows Jeanne around. Getting out this morning without being swarmed by camera wielding nut-jobs had involved Secret Service style maneuvering just for the driver to get the SUV out of the garage. I was never stalked like this my entire career and now that one picture of Steph leaving my building early in the morning got out there, there's reporters milling around the front of my building waiting to take pictures of, what? Did they think that I would drag her into the glass-walled lobby and rip her clothes off? Bend her over the back of one of those weird chairs by the door man's desk that were more sculpture than furniture? Or wait, push her up against the window and fuck her right there?

 _Hmmmmmm…_

I should probably stop trying to come up with scenarios that the vultures might like because I was getting hard. I didn't like the idea of everyone seeing us, that hadn't ever been a turn-on for me. As soon as I'd thought them though, my helpful mind had gone straight to us doing any and all of those things in the privacy of my condo. Especially that last one, the window I had her against was the glass wall of my shower stall and I could see _everything_ in the mirror on the opposite wall.

 _Damn._

But, sitting next to her at a meeting with her boss specifically to assure him that she was the consummate professional, whilst sporting wood might be slightly contradictory. Given that I could only get loose workout pants over my cast, there'd be no hiding that.

It also pissed me off to no end that she thought, probably correctly, that her colleagues would look at her disdainfully if we were involved. I couldn't decide if remorse for dragging her into this situation or a strengthening protective urge was my most prevalent emotion as we inched through the tunnel heading into the city. Both were sitting pretty damn heavy on my mind when we finally pulled up in front of her office building. Where she was pacing on the sidewalk.

Something I'd noticed about Steph was that she had never been one to really care about flashy expensive clothes. She did, however, have this pair of incredibly sexy boots that I once saw when I took my mom to Barney's a few months ago. I had only recognized them because they had had the same red soles as hers and out of curiosity I picked them up and was shocked at the price tag. She only seemed to wear them when she had a big meeting or deal going down. She had them on now and I had to remind my dick to stand down. Steph was already pretty tall, with those boots on she was within a few inches of my height. Something about that turned me the fuck on.

She caught sight of me right away and ran over. I'd been so caught up with the boots that I hadn't noticed the dress she had on. Goddam, she was dressed to take no prisoners today. Red, slim-fitting dress under a long, black wool coat, add in that footwear and she might as well have been carrying a neon sign blaring _'Do not fuck with me'._

"Babe, holy shit."

She held her hand out to help me from the SUV. "What?"

"You look…" I cast around for the right words. "Like Andrew is going to be sorry he called this meeting." I slowly stepped down. Have I mentioned that I was getting sick of this bad leg thing?

"He will be if he says the wrong thing," she muttered. "How does your leg feel today?" She kept my hand as she reached in the back of the SUV for my crutches. "Where are you parents?"

"We need them?" She smiled and shook her head. "I sent them back to bed. Mom was falling asleep at the kitchen island over her coffee. She was bitching the entire time about time changes, traveling and getting old."

Her smile grew. "I love your mom."

"She loves you too." That smile turned almost shy. She was very close to me, fussing with the crutches and I could smell the coconutty stuff she puts in her hair. The urge to kiss her right then was painfully strong, but I quickly squashed it. Right now was probably the worst possible time to give in to that. "Should we go in?" I asked instead. She looked at me askance, time stretching for a beat.

"Yeah… yes. Do you have anything else in there?" She nodded her head at the SUV.

"My backpack." I moved to reach for it at the same time as she did. We collided again, her breasts sliding against my stomach and chest as she reached past me to get the bag. Fuck, it was like fate was conspiring against me lately. Like no day could pass without feeling her body against mine. This no-having-an-erection-in-a-very-serious-meeting thing was getting harder… _harder…_

You see? Even my internal monologue was coming from my other head.

She stood straight and slung my backpack over her shoulder. "You really suck at accepting help. Do you know that?"

"Yeah, but then you wouldn't have just dry humped me if I was more gracious." That kind of banter wasn't unusual for us, but her response floored me.

"Sweetheart, if that's dry humping to you, I have a few things I should teach you." She patted my cheek and sauntered off, those heels clicking hypnotically on the granite pavement.

Yeah, I was just going to stand out here in the freezing cold for a while. See if that could calm things down.

She got to the door and turned to see where I was, motioning with her hand for me to follow her and, like the slavish dog I was becoming for her, I obeyed.

"Carlos," Andrew boomed. "I didn't know you were coming today."

Yeah, no shit. He looked seriously unhappy that I was here under that greasy smirk. I never would've signed with this company if it wasn't for Steph. Nearly every other agent here was a glorified pick-pocket. "Thought I should swing by, considering what they're saying about Stephanie in the press."

"Yes, but it's all made up of course," he conceded.

"Of course it is," Steph said walking in behind me and shaking hands with Andrew. It was hard not to snort when she towered over his diminutive frame, his discomfort very evident. I knew she wore those boots for a reason.

We all sat. his office was set up curiously for someone who was trying to charm clients, a lot of whom have rather large egos, into handing over their hard earned salaries in order for him to handle their affairs. Steph had a desk, but hardly ever sat there. She chose to have client meetings in a small sitting area in her office or in a quiet restaurant. It was so much more comfortable than here. He had a large desk and chair, that could only be described as throne-like, with two lower than usual visitor chairs placed in front. Maybe he was trying to appear confident and successful. But, it just came off as 'I'm desperate to be superior to you'. The huge window with the view stretching to lower Manhattan behind him just added to the napoleon complex he had going on. Like he was proclaiming himself emperor of all you could see. Another reason I was glad I was good at something that rarely involved a desk. I couldn't imagine anything more infuriating than office politics and posturing all damn day.

He cleared his throat and looked from me to her. "Well, I, um, wanted to see you this morning because of the things that have been circulating in the press."

Steph snorted, "I'd hardly call TMZ and US Weekly 'the press.'"

"Nonetheless, the rumors are out there and I'm concerned that it will reflect badly on Kratos."

"Really? I thought your philosophy was more that there's no such thing as bad publicity."

"Yes, well we've never had this instance come up. An agent committing career suicide by sleeping with her client while he's practically engaged to one of the biggest movie stars there is right…"

What the fuck? "What?" I've been told that when I'm really pissed I can be kind of frightening. I might've yelled a little too loudly because he actually cowered for a second. "Who do you think you…"

She touched her hand to mine, "Carlos, I got this." I looked at her incredulously for a second. No way was I going to let this smarmy creep threaten her job and talk shit about her right in front of me. To add insult to injury, he thought I would ever marry that… that fucking bitch. There, I said it. My mother would probably smack me for using that word to describe a woman, but it was an apt description. "I got this," she said more firmly.

"Fine." I sat back, trying not to jump over the desk and choke the shit out of this little fucker.

"What you meant to say was that your only female agent has never slept with one of her clients, right? Because it's fairly common knowledge that Dickie slept with that tennis player last year. Do you think his poor wife figured that out yet?"

"Well, that, that was different," he stammered.

"Sure it was. He actually slept with a client. Didn't he get a higher commission rate following that?"

"Um, I don't really know."

"So what are we talking about here? Is it that there's bad publicity about me, your agent, or me, your _female_ agent? Where's the back-slapping for me, Andrew?"

He squirmed in his throne. "Are you accusing me of sexism, Stephanie?"

"That depends on the answer to my question." Man, she was sitting there completely unperturbed, while I was fucking fuming.

"Of course it's not because you're a woman," he insisted.

"Then why are we even here? Did you pull Dickie in here after his transgression?"

The smirk was back, "There was no publicity after that."

"So, it's the appearance of impropriety that bothers you? Not the actual immoral behavior. That's really interesting, Andrew." She tapped her chin contemplatively. Uh-oh, I knew that look. She had dirt on him and she was about to pull it out. "Antonio Smith comes to mind."

He stiffened visibly. "I don't know what you're talking about." He had a shit poker face. He looked like he knew exactly what she was talking about.

Antonio Smith was the super-star quarterback for the New York Jets. He had taken two pretty significant hits to the head at the end of the season, the first one had appeared to shake him up, but he still played the next two games anyway. His play not even half of what it usually was. That second game was his last ever. The subsequent hit knocking him completely unconscious on the field and now had been diagnosed with traumatic brain injury. I heard he couldn't talk at all for the next two weeks and that he still couldn't form a sentence and had to use a walker for his rehab. The reports are that he may improve slightly, but never be his old self again. What this guy had to do with that I couldn't imagine.

"Did you do it?" She asked him quietly.

He shook his head, his mouth open, but no words coming out.

"Do what?" I asked her.

She gave me a _we'll talk later_ look

"No!" He almost yelled. The vehemence of his denial indicating the exact opposite was true.

She just stared at him. No way was I ever giving her up as my agent, but she would've made an excellent litigator.

"I didn't!" He insisted.

She just nodded, her skepticism apparent. "So, we're done here, right? We don't need to discuss this anymore?"

"Yes, we're finished here." He looked relieved that she stood to leave. "Carlos, I'm sorry that you had to come into the city for this."

She offered her hand to help me stand. If she hadn't squeezed my fingers and shot me a warning look, I probably would've swung at the asshole.

"Yeah," I said instead, clumping out of the room behind her.

I bit my tongue all the way to her office. I even managed to wait until her door was shut. "You were magnificent," I gushed. She really had been.

She smiled and looked down. "Yeah, well, I feel totally sleazy. I didn't want to go in there with veiled threats. I haven't done anything to warrant being reprimanded like a child. I also really didn't want to bring up the Smith injury, because any respect I had for my boss just completely evaporated." She sighed and flopped down on the little couch, unzipping her boot, making my mouth water. She pulled it off and dug her thumb into the arch of her foot, groaning in relief.

I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself down. Between the caveman urge to wade in and bang the heads of anyone that would insult her, her total control in that meeting, and the way she lifted one foot over her knee, making her skirt ride up, her smooth, firm thigh showing, I was feeling incredibly… tense.

"You okay?" The chuckle in her voice made my eyes pop open. Thankfully she had put her leg back down.

"Yeah." I sat as she repeated the process with the other foot. An offer to assist with the massage just begging to fall out of my mouth. She really had no clue how sexy she was. Did I mention the dress she had on? She was covered by close-fitting fabric from her collarbones to just below her knees. It had these tiny little sleeves that just covered her shoulders, her long elegant arms, looking very toned and fit. And, it had this zipper that went from collar to hem straight down the back. The trek following behind her from office to office had involved some mental fun.

"Seriously, what's wrong with you today?"

I shook myself out of my Steph induced fog. "Nothing. What was all that about Antonio?"

The smile slipped off her face. She got up and padded barefoot to the door, she flicked the lock and resumed her seat. "I wasn't sure until I said his name to Andrew. Now I'm sure though." She shook her head in disgust. "Remember that under armor ad you did a few weeks ago?"

Ugh, they'd oiled me up and posed me in a freezing cold photography studio for hours in just boxer briefs. "Yeah, you know they ended up using the first shot they took?"

She cleared her throat, "Yeah, they sent me the proofs." Her cheeks were definitely pink now, she didn't have many tells. But that blush was kind of a giveaway.

 _Focus._

"What about the ad?"

"Well, I had been here taking care of the contract for that and I needed to show Andrew something and I went into his office and caught the tail end of a conversation between him and Smith. He's one of the few players he still represents. I know that they were going to negotiate for an even higher contract for him next season. Mind you he's already the highest paid football player in the NFL."

That much I knew. Our QB was well paid, but Antonio already made $6 million more a season than he did. "How much were they looking for? Shit, they wouldn't have had the cap space."

"I don't know. Andrew would've told the board once it was firmer. The Jets would've dumped a lot of players to keep him. Anyway, I didn't hear much, but I thought it sounded like Andrew told him to play anyway. This was the Thursday after that first sack where his head bounced off the field. I'm guessing that the doctors had cleared him, but it seemed like… I don't know. It seemed like Smith didn't want to play. He said something about being dizzy still." She thought deeply for a minute. "Playing it back now, it seems like that's exactly what happened and I didn't want to think that Andrew would encourage someone to play and conceal that something could be going on still. If he was symptomatic, it's not that uncommon for the diagnostics to miss something. Given Andrew's reaction just now, I'm sure of it."

What an asshole. "How damaging to his salary demands would it have been if he'd sat out the end of the season with a concussion?"

"It wouldn't have been horrific. They probably would've renewed at the rate he's at right now."

"I heard he's not going to recover." I looked down at my leg. My injury was nothing to what Smith had incurred. Yeah, it wasn't exactly something I could've pretended wasn't there, but Steph had been so caring and supportive. Never really even bringing up going back. Her whole focus had been on me getting better, then dealing with things as they came. I can't picture her ever pushing me to do something that could be detrimental to my health. Not ever.

"I'm really lucky to have you, huh?"

She had been deep inside her head and was a little startled when I said that. "What?" Her eyes focused on me. "Oh, yeah, damn straight you're lucky to have me." She cracked a smile but it didn't reach her eyes.

I stood on my good leg and scooted onto the couch next to her. "What are you thinking?"

She heaved a tired sigh. "What do I do with this? I'm not the kind of person to sit on stuff like this. But, what proof do I have? A hunch? Who the hell do I tell?"

"I have no clue, babe." I threw my arm around her shoulder tugging her close like she did for me the other day.

She settled in, laying her cheek against my neck. You have no idea how much it pleased me that she wasn't afraid to show some vulnerability around me. Whenever I've been near her with other people around she's always totally poised. She's the most together person I've ever met. But, over the years, when it was just us, I've gotten to see a softer side. It made me feel trusted.

Right now though, this felt like more than trust.

 **That took a more serious turn than I had planned, but it felt like the right way to go.**

 **If you need a visual on Steph's outfit, google Felicity & Coco seamed pencil dress on the Nordstrom site. Hers is tango red and I might have to go and buy it because I love it that much. For the boots you can go to the Barney's site and search Christian Louboutin Suede Lady Knee High Platform Boots. At $1495, I wouldn't ever be buying those, but she needed something that would make her very tall and still be work appropriate and I thought those were just kick-ass enough for the purpose. **

**Let me know what you thought, please?**

 **Thanks for reading,**

 **Love,**

 **EA xoxo**


	7. Chapter 7

**I wanted to post the Super Bowl chapter on Super Bowl Sunday, this needed to happen first though.**

 **JE might've created the original characters, but this plot is all mine.**

Carlos ended up staying in my office the whole day after that ridiculous meeting, refusing to leave until I did. Like I didn't know he was worried about me getting into it with Andrew again.

Andrew.

I really didn't know how to proceed on that. A well-timed media leak was one option, but felt lacking in integrity. Given I had absolutely zero evidence to support my suspicions though…

Then there was that Smith had ultimately made the decision to play, no matter where the encouragement came from. Yes, one could argue that he might've been impaired already and not really able to make a fully informed choice. But, if he was well enough to even discuss it with Andrew…

One thing was for sure. I had been becoming increasingly un-enamored with this business. I still loved the player interaction. Scoping out the next phenom was a thrill all on its own. As was guiding them through the minefield that was salary bargaining in the short tenured career of a professional athlete, making sure that they got paid what their unbelievable talent warranted. Watching them achieve the greatness they'd been aspiring to since they were tiny and someone handed them their first ball, bat or hockey stick was what I really loved doing. But my field had become increasingly more about what endorsements you can land for your clients. Not coincidentally, endorsements are where the real money is. For the athlete and the agent. Sports agents were only allowed a small percentage of a football player's salary as per NFL rules. But money from ad campaigns and such, the commission was far higher. I always did what my clients wanted and got them the big deals they were after. But the disillusionment was creeping up on me fast. Especially after seeing the truth on Andrew's face. He'd never had a good poker face, to me at least. I could always tell when he was bull-shitting. That the CEO of my company would encourage any client to do something as risky as playing with a suspected head injury to shore up a new bigger contract; thereby increasing his worth to companies looking to hock goods, was sleazy to the nth degree.

I had had a few ideas in the past about alternate careers, but worry for my clients had always kept me where I was. The ick factor I was experiencing lately was starting to surpass that concern though. I had two good friends at Kratos that I trusted enough to pass my clients on to. But, now probably wasn't the best time to think about it.

Once I got clear of the uncertainty about the Andrew mess, I'd put some real thought into it.

"Babe."

I looked up from my computer, surprised to find him leaning against the side of my desk and that it was already dark outside.

"You okay? You were grumbling and shaking your head."

"Yeah." I rubbed at my eyes and _then_ remembered that I had layered on some courage in the form of eyeliner and two coats of mascara this morning. "Shit!" I dug through my bag for a mirror.

"What?"

"I can't find my mirror. Do I look like a raccoon?" He reached over and tilted my chin up with a single fingertip.

Why did my mouth just pucker?

He looked me over, "You look beautiful, Steph. Perfect."

And why the hell did I keep blushing around him lately? Seriously, my cheeks were burning. I was also smiling like an idiot.

"Um, thanks." I mean, what else are you supposed to say to that? At least he was grinning too.

"You want to come home with me?"

I felt my eyebrows head to my hairline. "You think one little compliment will get me out of this dress?"

He choked out a laugh, "No. Mom wanted you to come for dinner. She's making me ropa vieja, tostones, and pastelitos."

Okay, the combination of the promise of his mother's cooking, something I had only experienced a few times in my life, his voice when he was speaking Spanish (even in English most of the time) and the fact that his finger was still tilting my face up to his was messing with my head. "Yeah, of course," I responded without even a tiny bit of thought.

"Ready then?"

"What? Now?" I looked at my watch amazed that it was 7:00 already. "Holy crap. Yes, let's go." I reached under my desk and retrieved my, instruments of torture, I mean, boots. They were works of art but I swear that Christian Louboutin secretly hated women and did his level best to cripple people like me who were dumb enough to hand over a fortune to have a good pair of heels in their closet. I swiveled and slid back into them, trying not to whimper like a wounded puppy when I slid the zipper up. Standing, I got to enjoy the other benefit besides towering over my diminutive Chihuahua of a boss, being almost eye-level with Carlos. He was a giant Giant, so the novelty of that made the pain in my arches lessen greatly. The fact that Carlos seemed to always stand within my personal space when I had them on was a nice bonus too. Something I hate with anyone else. I never minded with him though.

The five-mile trek back to his condo only took an hour. A record at this time of day. The bumper to bumper haze of red lights all worth it when he opened the door and the heavenly smell of Maria's cooking oozed out. What was a little mystifying was seeing Juan and Maria throwing their coats on as we were taking ours off.

"Where are you going?" Carlos asked.

"We want to go home for a while and if Stephanie's here for the evening?" she looked over at me questioningly. I shrugged, I could finish my work here as easily as I could've at home. "Then we can come back in the morning." The way she finished her sentence left no doubt she thought I would still be here in the morning. My suspicions about the reason behind my dinner invitation and their convenient departure confirmed when I saw that she had set the table for two, complete with candles and wine.

She was subtle, huh?

I opened my mouth to say something, but Carlos was already closing the door behind them. Even from behind I could tell he was grinning. He'd always found it amusing that his parents wanted us to be an _us._

He left one crutch by the door, started towards me and caught me around the waist, towing me with him to the dining room. "Come on while it's still hot."

You know how some men will get touchy and you feel like slapping their hands away and stomping on their foot? The way that his hand had automatically landed just below my waist, sitting kind of low on my hipbone, was really… nice. Even if he was just using me as his other crutch.

Sitting down, I looked over the feast she had set out for us and had to shake my head. Carlos was one of five mammoth brothers, the youngest about to graduate college in a few months. All of them played football, two in the NFL, two in the AFL and Ricky, the baby, for Ohio State. Only Ricky lived at home when he wasn't at school. Given the array of food that Maria had left out, it seemed that she'd never gotten out of the habit of cooking the mass quantities of food her progeny consumed. "Are your brothers coming over?" I half-joked.

He was already ladling mountains of food onto our plates. "No," he snorted, "Mom's told them that they're not allowed over until the cast comes off. Ever since Michael's nose was re-broken when it was almost healed, she gets super protective." He shook his head at the absurdity that a mom would be concerned about him getting his leg re-broken after a very long surgery.

By the time I had finished stuffing my face, I was feeling a whole lot like I should've gone home and gotten clothes to change into. My dress was fairly comfy, with a little bit of stretch, but after a second helping of pastelitos I was testing the tensile limits of the tiny bit of lycra incorporated into the fabric. Furthermore, why was the only way to loosen it the full length zipper going down the entire back of it?

"More?" He angled the wine bottle in my direction.

"I cannot put one more thing in my mouth or I will explode."

He opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. "Yes, especially _that_."

He gave me his most innocent eyes. "What? I was going to suggest a cup of coffee."

I stood, trying to get some more room in my abdomen and patted his shoulder. "Sure you were."

It actually didn't matter if he said something flirty or sexy right now. I was so full the only thing I was in danger of doing was falling asleep. His virtue was safe for today. But, only if I didn't let myself think about those proofs he had brought up earlier.

Although, the pictures of him in the little red boxer-briefs were absolutely magnificent…

 _Dammit!_

"Babe, you okay?"

Ugh, why was he being all observant right now while he was standing naked except for a three inch strategically placed piece of fabric behind my eyelids. It's not like he hadn't been wearing less, right in front of me, just days ago.

"I'm fine," I insisted. "Did I leave my stuff here the other day?"

He heaved himself up. "Yeah, Mom put it in my closet." He started down the hallway, using me as his other crutch again. "In here." He stopped at the built-in-dresser and pulled open the top drawer.

I rubbed my forehead, a little bewildered. "She gave me a drawer? In your closet?"

"No, I asked her to put your things there. You forgot them in the dryer the other day."

 _He_ gave me a drawer in his closet?

I didn't know what to say. "Oh."

"Go ahead and get changed if you want." He left to give me some privacy, his mood turning serious, and I didn't know what to think.

The contortionist style finagling to lower my zipper distracted me from that though, and had me wishing I had the ovaries to go out there and ask him for help. But, it just felt too stupid. I had gotten the damn thing zipped up this morning. Only I had to concede defeat and a sizable chunk of my frizzy curls when they got tangled in the zipper and hopelessly snarled.

Shit.

I tried to peel the dress off from the bottom, but between the poochy-I-just-ate-my-body-weight-in-cuban-food-belly, and the already snug fit, that was a no-go.

Shit.

 _Just get it over with, Stephanie._

As soon as I opened the door I could hear her irritating, strident voice.

 _Please be on speakerphone._

I knew she wasn't though. I walked down the hall and found them just inside the closed front door.

Jeanne. I guess she figured out that planes fly even on days she wasn't planning on using them.

She glared at me for a full minute, withering a bit when she realized that I really didn't give a shit about her or her dirty looks. "Get out," she barked.

"Hey!" Carlos yelled, getting pissed.

I laughed, just completely guffawed. Who the fuck did this asshole think she was? The laughing just incensed her more.

She turned on him. "Why is she here?"

"None. Of. Your. Business," he replied deliberately.

Her finger came up, about to poke him in the chest and just like that, I'd had enough. I stepped to his side and gave her my own glare. "If you touch him, I will have you arrested for assault and make sure the police walk you out front of the building for all the vultures to see."

She pointed that finger in my direction. "Her?" she looked me calculatingly up and down. Her lovely face dissolving into a disgusted grimace when she got to my hair. "Are you kidding me?"

Hey! My hair had looked good this morning but it was one of those nasty damp, drizzly, days out. Wasn't my fault curly hair and humidity don't mix.

Carlos sighed, "Why are you here, Jeanne?"

"I want to know why you're cheating on me! I think I deserve to know."

He snorted, "Are _you_ kidding _me_?"

"No! I'm away on vacation and have to find out online that you and this, this…" she fluttered her fingers in my direction like I was too low even for an insult. "Are fucking behind my back. How long had this been going on?"

He was staring at her, mouth agape, like he'd never really seen her before. "You are really, actually crazy. Do you know that? You are nuts."

She continued like he hadn't said anything at all. "You could've had this." She pointed at her, admittedly, gorgeous body. "And you throw it all away for that?" She pointed at me again.

Man, my hand was just itching to slap her. He took my fingers in his and squeezed them gently. Telling me without words, he would handle it.

"Was my last message to you ambiguous in any way?" His voice held an edge that was a tad scary, even to me.

She continued on unheeded. "I mean; do you have any idea how many men I've turned down since we've been together? I'm talking huge stars here." She shook her head at her own apparent stupidity.

"You know what Jeanne? I have one thing left to say to you." That edge growing sharper. "You are the most disgusting, narcissistic, classless person I have ever met. You need to get the out of my house before I call someone to remove you."

"You're throwing me out? _You_ are throwing _me_ out?" She was absolutely flabbergasted. I don't even think she was acting. "How dare you!"

He dropped my hand, straightening to his full height. "How dare I? This is my fucking house, Jeanne." She opened her mouth, but he jumped in. "No, no. I listened to you lunatic ranting. Now it's my turn. You want to know why I'm finished with you? It's because, like I already said, you are without a doubt, the most pathologically selfish and spoiled asshole I've ever met. I've looked for some redeeming quality in you and I haven't found a single thing worth staying in a relationship with you for. This," he gestured to his leg, "didn't even warrant a fucking phone call from you! Sure, I got fifty texts waxing on about how my probably career-ending injury was effecting you."

I don't think anyone had ever called her out like this before. She looked genuinely upset. "But…"

"I'm not done. You don't deserve an explanation, but Steph doesn't deserve you spreading shit around about her. Stephanie was there when I got hurt. She dropped everything for the next three days and stayed with me the entire time, helping me get around and do things like, you know, eat. Do you know why?" She just glared at him. "Because she actually has the capacity to care for someone other than herself. Can you even understand that?"

She raised her finger again and I stepped between them. "You will not touch him. Do you understand me?"

She studied my face for a beat. I saw it dawn on her that it wouldn't go well for her if she tried it. She backed up a step and gathered her pride.

Opening the door, she turned to him, "I fucked Ryan Gosling at Cannes this year."

She's been in one too many movies if that's what she thought she should be saying here.

He shrugged his shoulders, "Hope he liked it more than I did."

I couldn't help but laugh at that. Mean, I know, but she deserved it, big time.

She huffed out a muffled scream, looking more like a steaming tea-kettle than any other human being I'd ever seen, and slammed the door behind her. We looked at each other wide-eyed for a minute before cracking up. "What the hell did you ever see in her?" I couldn't wrap my head around them as a couple still and they were already over.

He sighed and tried to calm his breathing. "I don't know. She seemed alright at first." I guess my face was displaying my skepticism, so he countered with, "What did you ever see in that douche Bobby?"

I followed him back to the table. "You didn't like him?" We had only ever been to one function together, some awards banquet, I think.

"No." He started grabbing plates, which I promptly took out of his hand. "He was a Cowboys fan."

My only response was to roll my eyes.

I was, however, acutely aware of him watching me clear the table. "What?" I finally asked.

"I thought you were going to change?"

"Oh, yeah. I was going to ask for your help."

That sexy smirk was back. "You need my help changing?"

I was in serious danger of straining my eye muscles at the rate I was rolling them. "My hair is stuck in the zipper. Like, you might have to get scissors and cut it out, kind of stuck."

"Come here, let me see."

He had sat in one of the dining chairs as I cleaned up and I had to do a weird back-first dip to let him have a look. He huffed a breath and tugged me down, settling my behind on his good leg.

 _Well then…_

Oh, and that whole, nothing-he-did-could-possibly-turn-me-on-right-now thing was total bullshit. The second his warm fingers touched the skin on the nape of my neck, tingles shot everywhere and various sensitive body parts did some interesting things.

 _What? It's been a while, okay?_

I had to bite my lip to not whimper as he gently tried to free my trapped hair. It was just too much contact. The way he had sat me down, I was leaning against his torso and between his breath hitting _that_ spot on the side of my neck and the touching and the fact that he was actually pulling down my zipper, my hair finally free…

 _Fuck._

I jumped up when I felt his fingertips on the skin just above my bra strap, all flustered. "Thanks. I'm just gonna… go and um, change." It was a struggle to walk and not run to his room, but I managed.

I knew I should stay over tonight in case he needed help with something. After that though, I needed to put some distance here because this was becoming far more than a little crush for me.

 **If you need the mental image of him in his under-armor shorts google Rob Gronkowski red underwear. Gronk is quite pretty and is my body model for Manoso. But, we all know no actual, living breathing man is as beautiful as our Carlos. So let your imagination go. In my head he a lovely combo of actors Shemar Moore and Daniel Sunjata.**

 **Please let me know what you thought?**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Love,**

 **EA xoxo**


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